


Let Me Fall

by solomonara



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Bisexual Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Don't copy to another site, Get together fic, Humor, Identity Porn, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Memory Loss, Partial amnesia, Police Brutality, Protective Jason, Slow Burn, Swearing, jaydick, rated M for some brief sexy talk in chapter 4 and that's it, this wanted so badly to be a bookshop AU and I just would not let it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: In order to give Dick some semblance of a life after a serious brain injury, Batman removes all of Dick's memories of his time as a vigilante. All of the Bats are given strict instructions not to interact with Dick at the risk of causing further damage. Jason is, of course, very good at following rules…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Do not ask me where this falls continuity-wise, for I haven't a clue. I've got Cass as Black Bat, Duke as Signal, and Steph as Batgirl all running around in the background all at the same time because I felt like it but I don't know if that actually complies with any canon timeline.
> 
> Also, I'm aware that there's an amnesia arc in recent Nightwing issues, but I haven't read any of them! So any similarities to canon are the result of witchcraft and cultural osmosis, thanks.
> 
> Extra special thanks to [DragonSorceress22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/pseuds/DragonSorceress22) for the beta, stg half my sentences would be incomprehensible without her. Thanks also to the Jaydick discord for a lot of encouragement and excellent writing discussion as I worked my way through some sticky bits in this fic!

"All points, there is a situation at Robinson Park," Oracle's voice crackled across the coms. Throughout Gotham masked and cowled heads perked up to glance in that direction.

"The protest?" Red Robin asked.

"Ivy's taken exception to it," Oracle confirmed. "Between her, the counter-protestors, and the cops… B wants all hands on deck."

"Batgirl on the way," Batgirl checked in.

"Red Robin, heading that way."

"On it." This from Black Bat.

"Signal, already there."

"Batwoman ready."

"Batwing on the move."

Oracle waited a few moments. Robin was already with Batman, Red Hood never answered his coms anyway and likely wasn't in the city at all. Which left— "Nightwing, you local? Has anyone heard from N?"

"Last I heard he was tracking a lead in the packing district. Something about a rash of diamond thefts?" Signal said.

"Seriously? The city's about to riot and he's chasing diamonds? It's probably just Catwoman and we'll end up seeing her at the protest," said Batgirl.

"I'll track him down," Oracle said. "The rest of you, get to the park."

Affirmatives echoed across the line and Babs switched half her monitors to the cameras she had watching the park. The protest – a demonstration against police brutality – was going strong and had been all day. Thousands of protestors had braved the heat of Gotham's summer to set up in the park that morning and were refusing to disperse now that it was night. If anything they were only gaining energy now that the sun had gone down.

The heat had been brutal all summer long, each day bringing the kind of sidewalk-wavering temperatures that made tempers rise right along with the mercury. People who could afford to crank the air down stayed indoors. People who couldn't lounged on stoops, flooded the public libraries, loitered in shops. There were more people out at night than usual, and it seemed the police had lost the ability to tell who was just trying to get some relief from the sun and who was actually a suspicious character.

Then a month ago some cop had shot an unarmed kid who'd been – allegedly – stealing a candy bar. A _candy bar_. Babs had asked her dad about it. He'd only shaken his head, said the cop in question was suspended pending inquiry, that his officers did their best and what more could anyone ask? Babs had stared hard at him, had tried to argue, but her dad's brain must have been fried from all the long shifts because it was like talking to a brick wall. Usually she could at least get a solid argument out of him. Babs had wheeled herself out of the room, out of the building, angrily and hadn't spoken to him since.

Much of the city seemed to share her sentiment – hence the demonstrations in Robinson Park today, though of course there were also counter-protestors. And you weren't going to gather a massive crowd in Gotham without also gathering some of the more colorful residents…

"B, I'm showing movement on the north side," Oracle reported.

"Confirmed," came Batman's reply. Oracle could only determine it sounded slightly breathless due to years of talking to him over com lines. "Creeping vines— Robin, down!" Explosions over the coms were reduced to light crackles thanks to the compression technology that also protected the wearer's hearing, but Babs recognized those, too, as Batman deployed defensive maneuvers against whatever Ivy had thrown at him.

"Backup's on the way," Oracle reported.

Batman grunted, then opened his own line to the rest of the team. "Batgirl and Signal, stick to the south side. Make sure nothing between the protesters and counter-protestors escalates. Batwoman, go wide, keep an eye on the perimeter. Make sure this isn't a distraction from something bigger. Nightwing and Red Robin, see what you can do to make sure the police keep their heads. Black Bat and Batwing, on me."

"Nightwing's MIA," Red Robin reported.

"Nonsense," Robin said. "I spoke to him earlier today. He's still in the city."

"No time to track him down. Red Robin can handle the police." Batman closed his com line and focused on avoiding the lash of a vine as large around as he was. Robin scrambled through trees toward the overgrown cluster of greenery the vines seemed to be coming from. That was where Ivy would be, and if they stopped her, they'd take the civilians out of danger. Well, out of danger from anyone but themselves.

Batwing swooped in, firing off an arc of projectiles to buy himself a little space and landed next to Batman, followed almost immediately by Black Bat dropping out of a nearby tree. "Reporting for duty," Batwing said.

"Good. Keep the vines busy and make sure they don't head any farther south."

Batwing grumbled at decoy detail, but Batman was already moving. He definitely didn't want Robin encountering Ivy alone.

 

Later, Batman watched as Ivy was carried away in special restraints back to Arkham. She'd always liked Robinson Park. Batman had assumed some protestors had trampled a bed of daffodils or something, but Ivy hadn't mentioned anything specific amidst her usual rhetoric about the Green and the sins of humanity against Mother Earth. Actually, she hadn't done much monologuing at all, which was a relief but a little unusual. The area she'd chosen to stage her little plant uprising was a little unusual, too, but the north side of the park had a lot more greenery to work with than the south. The plants would have reached the protestors eventually.

Batman swiped a thumb over a cut on his cheek where something had lashed him. The movement of the plants had been choppy, frantic. Whatever new thing Ivy had been testing out, it had made them quick… but considerably less sneaky. No spores, no toxins, no subtle attempts at control. It had, overall, been a very straightforward fight. That left Batman feeling uneasy.

"Report in," he ordered over the open com line.

"Protestors are breaking up and heading home," Signal reported.

"No one got shot," Batgirl added. "I call that a win."

"No injuries here," Red Robin said.

One by one, the others who had been in the park chimed in. Robin was last.

"I am en route to Nightwing," he said.

Batman's eyebrows crashed together. Robin had been with him not ten minutes ago. Batman closed the open line and addressed Robin alone. "Robin, status."

"Barely even tired from that mockery of a fight. I intend to find out why Nightwing missed it."

"Nightwing is unresponsive on coms. Robin, wait for backup," Batman said, already moving toward where he'd left the Batmobile.

" _Tt_ ," said Robin. "I'm already approaching his tracker's location. If you want me to have backup, get here faster."

Batman muttered a curse and called Oracle. "O, any update on Nightwing?"

"His tracker's broadcasting, though it hasn't moved in a while. I've sent you the location, and it looks like Robin's on his way already."

"He is," Batman growled. "Any idea what he's going to find?"

"I don't have cameras everywhere in the packing district so I can't see N specifically, but the area looks quiet. You want me to ping the others?"

"No. Robin and I will handle it. Batman out."

 

Robin circled the old factory once before deciding on a shadowed ledge from which to watch the activity inside. And there _was_ activity inside. Robin's lip curled as he recognized the hallmarks of one of Mad Hatter's operations: a dozen blonde girls and a few heavies wandering about in a vague sort of way. They didn't seem to be _doing_ anything, and Tetch himself wasn't in sight, but there was an office in the corner. Robin would lay even odds he was in there.

He scanned his surroundings one more time, looking for Nightwing. It was possible he was standing back and watching for something, just like Robin was, but that wouldn't explain the radio silence. They had tap codes for times when stealth didn't permit them to speak, and Nightwing hadn't used them.

Then Tetch burst from the office, a small box under one arm, and started herding his crop of Alices toward a large bay door. One of his enforcers gestured to a corner where a few crates were piled up, clearly asking a question. Probably whether to take the crates with since they seemed to be vacating the premises. Tetch became agitated, though, yelling and gesturing wildly. He shoved the box he was carrying into his minion's hands and pulled a small remote from his pocket, jabbing the buttons on it furiously while staring into the corner. When nothing happened, he shook the remote violently and started yelling at the crates.

Robin frowned and shifted slowly across the ledge, heading for another set of windows so he could see what was in that corner more clearly. He'd thought it was just piled up crates, but as it turned out there was a small space in the midst of them. Slouched against a slightly shorter stack, boneless as a rag doll, was Nightwing.

Robin's breath caught in his throat and his vision narrowed to that corner.

Nightwing wasn't moving. There was a thin trickle of blood trailing from his nose and one of his ears. Around his head was a steel band. As Robin watched, the Hatter crouched over Nightwing and knocked twice against the band with one knuckle. Nightwing's head lolled to the side and Tetch threw up his arms in exasperation. He turned – and ran directly into Robin's boots.

Tetch hit the ground and Robin grabbed the front of his obnoxiously patterned shirt to pull him back up. There was a faint smell of burned paper on the air, but nothing currently appeared to be smoking or on fire, so Robin focused on Tetch.

"What did you do to Nightwing?" Robin demanded.

The Hatter shrieked. "Protect me!"

Robin looked over his shoulder and saw the Alices converging on him, as well as the more run-of-the-mill thugs – about a dozen girls and two burly men. He scoffed. The biggest challenge would be not hurting any of them. He introduced his elbow to Tetch's temple and had already moved on to the first of the men before the Hatter hit the floor, unconscious.

Robin made short work of the thugs, dodging the Alices all the while, then pulled out a grapple and manually unspooled the line. He tethered each of the girls to the others and then looped the whole thing around a pylon, leaving them to bump clumsily into each other as they tried to carry out the Hatter's order. Robin had hoped it was a situation where the Hatter's control would break once he was no longer actively dominating their minds, but apparently this was somewhat more advanced tech.

Whatever. They were contained, the goons were down for the count, and Hatter had been perfunctorily zip tied, stripped of any devices, and then literally kicked aside. Nightwing was the priority. Robin dropped to his knees by Nightwing's side and pulled the steel band from his head, flinging it away.

"Nightwing, wake up," he said. "I've taken care of your mess. Open your eyes so I can yell at you properly." Robin felt for a pulse and found it strong, but rapid. The line of blood under his nose was dry, cracking where it had run over his lips. The trickle from his ear was already tacky, nearly dry. Neither was actively bleeding, that was clear. But Nightwing didn't move.

"Robin," came Batman's voice, suddenly directly behind him. Robin hadn't heard him arrive or approach, and didn't care. "Report."

"He won't wake up," Robin said, not taking his eyes off of Nightwing. Batman pulled him back gently and took his place. He ran his hands carefully over Nightwing's head, took his pulse just as Robin had done. Robin craned over his shoulder looking for the slightest movement – but then Tetch stirred and Robin's attention snapped to him.

He was on top of him in two steps, fist raised. "What did you do to him?" he demanded once again.

Hatter's eyes widened and he squirmed in his zip ties. "I don't know why he's like that! The crowns worked perfectly on everyone else!" Robin hit him. Tetch's head snapped to the side. "No, no, really, I don't— he shouldn't have resisted!" Tetch howled. Robin snarled and hit him again. Blood spurted from his nose.

"Tell me about the crowns," Batman said, suddenly looming over them both. He had the headband Robin had flung aside held between two hands.

"Oh, by ladess work," Tetch said nasally, a hint of pride in his voice. Robin raised his fist again. "Don't!" Tetch cried. "Iss a stronger wave form, thass all! Bedder cooling, bedder— ugh, by _dose_ , I can't—"

"How do we _fix him_?" Robin hissed.

"Robin. I'll handle this. Take care of Nightwing," Batman said.

Robin glared up at him but dropped Tetch after a moment and spun on his heel. Batman had shifted Nightwing so that he was lying flat on the floor. Robin dropped to sit cross-legged near his head. "We will fix it," he said. "You will be your usual annoying self in no time and then you will tell me how you were so foolish as to get into this situation in the first place." Nightwing's chest rose and fell steadily. Robin put two fingers on his pulse again, just to make sure. "We will fix it."

 

They transported Nightwing back to the Batcave as carefully as possible. Whatever Batman had learned from Tetch, it hadn't made him happy. He called Dr. Thompkins on the way to the cave and she was waiting when the Batmobile pulled in. She helped Batman move Nightwing to an exam table while Robin watched, too short to effectively lend a hand. Then Alfred was there, a hand on his shoulder, turning him away, asking questions.

Damian answered tersely, one eye on Batman and Leslie as they conferred over Nightwing's still body. It took him longer than it should have to realize that Alfred was guiding him toward the stairs.

"No," Damian said. "I need to know what happens."

Alfred pressed his lips together, but conceded. Damian settled himself at the computer and began logging evidence, keeping one eye on the adults.

The box Tetch had been carrying had been full of diamonds, all clearly stolen. There had also been the components for Tetch's new "crowns". The parts were commonplace, the design not too different from Tetch's usual equipment. The diamonds were the new addition, being used as components in the upgraded model Tetch had been so pleased with. At least that explained the thefts, which had been somewhat outside the Mad Hatter's usual MO, but it didn't explain—

"That's Mad Hatter's design?" Tim asked, looking over his shoulder. Damian scowled.

"Obviously."

"It's a little advanced for him."

"Advanced? This is a crude application of diamonds as semi-conductors." Diamond material in tech was usually synthetic, crafted specifically to the tech's purpose. Tetch had been using any old cut of diamond and jamming it into the crowns' circuits in a rudimentary sort of way. "Even you could cobble together something better than this."

"Not the execution. The concept," Tim said. Damian could tell his brain was trying to work something out because Tim wasn't getting annoyed by Damian's attitude.

"Perhaps Tetch picked up a computer science magazine at some point in the last ten years," Damian said. "Everyone knows diamond is more efficient than silicon."

"Hm," said Tim, but he didn't look convinced, and he didn't look like he was going to drop it. Damian rolled his eyes and started logging the victim information, which simply meant copying it from the police database. GCPD had picked up the Alices shortly after Batman had alerted them. Removing the crowns from each girl had caused her to snap out of the Hatter's haze and all of them seemed like they were going to be just fine. That didn't stop Damian from wondering if maybe he shouldn't have torn the crown from Nightwing's head, maybe he should have waited, what if he'd made it worse, what if—

Enough. The victims were textbook, perfectly within expected parameters for one of Hatter's schemes. Whatever his end goal with the improved crowns had been, it didn't matter. He'd been stopped and he was already back behind Arkham's imposing walls. Case closed.

"If you're going to continue hovering like that you may as well be the one doing this," Damian said to Tim.

"Yeah, thanks," Tim said absently, taking the chair when Damian vacated it. Damian rolled his eyes. He glanced (again) over to the infirmary where Dr. Thompkins and Batman had been holed up for hours, having finally wheeled Dick into one of the closed-off rooms after most of the batfamily had drifted through, in turn, wanting to know what they could do to help. They were, for the most part, dispersed at this point, aside from himself and Drake.

Damian wandered to the sparring area but didn't have the energy to run through any exercises. Instead, he pulled a rack of bladed weapons from the armory, honing and cleaning them, the familiar and repetitive motions soothing, allowing his mind to settle, the edges of his thoughts to soften.

When J'onn J'onzz walked out of the infirmary, though, he dropped the cloth he'd been using to oil a katana and jumped to his feet. Batman was right behind J'onn, and Damian hurried over. Even Drake's head had lifted from the computer monitors, watching them curiously.

J'onn and Batman spoke quietly outside the infirmary. Moving closer, Damian could see Nightwing lying on the table, his mask set aside. He looked like he was sleeping.

"Father?" Damian asked, approaching them. Tim turned from the computer, curiosity pulling him over as well.

"If that's what it takes," Batman was saying, ignoring both Damian and Tim. "Then that's what we'll do."

"What's going on?" Tim asked. "J'onn, when did you get here?"

"Batman called me when it was clear that Nightwing's condition was trauma-based. Mental trauma," J'onn said.

"J'onn," Batman said warningly. J'onn gave him a mild look.

"They will have to know, if this is to work. The entire League will need to know, or else the risk is too great. Even then I would suggest removing him to a remote—"

"No. He stays in Gotham. I'll watch over him," Batman said. Damian snuck a look at Tim, but he seemed as lost as Damian was.

J'onn inclined his head to Batman. "I believe you, friend. But the point remains that we must inform the others of the situation."

Batman sighed and turned to Tim and Damian. "Nightwing is experiencing a… mental rift. From what we can tell, it happened when he tried to resist the Hatter's control. His mind has shut down in self-defense, but the odds of healing this kind of psychic damage…"

"Are very, very low," J'onn filled in. The muscle in Batman's jaw tightened as Tim and Damian stared. "I have been inside his mind. It is… not good. The struggle between Nightwing's will and the Mad Hatter's technology has fractured him. He hovers in a void, pieces of himself drifting and unable to reconcile."

"So reconcile them for him!" Damian exclaimed, hands in fists at his sides. "You have the ability. Go in and put him back together!"

"It's not that simple," Batman said, and Damian could _hear_ the strain in his voice the way he normally only did when his father had been awake for more than two consecutive nights.

"The trauma still exists," Tim guessed, eyes narrowed in thought. "He'd just split again, over and over, unless he has a chance to process it."

"Which he won't," Batman said. "The rift is too deep, and he was under for too long." A gauntlet creaked under strain. "Our options are to leave him as he is now and hope that he wakes up some day – and hope that when he does he's still himself – or… to patch the tear."

"Well that's it, then," Damian said, exasperated. "Patch it. Why is this even a question?"

"The patch is just that: a bandage that will waken Nightwing and allow him to function," J'onn explained gently. "But we will need to be thorough in covering up the originating trauma. Very thorough."

"We will remove all memory of Nightwing's life as a vigilante," Batman said bluntly. "Build him a new life, one where his thoughts never have any reason to go anywhere near that patch."

Tim's eyebrows came together. "For how long?" he asked.

Batman didn't answer. Neither did J'onn.

" _Forever_?" Damian demanded. No one contradicted him. "No," he said. "That is not a solution. Grayson will heal, and he will come back the same as he always was."

"There is less than point-zero-five percent chance that that will happen," Batman said.

"We beat the odds on a daily basis," Damian shot back. "We beat _death_. This is no different!"

"It's not your call," Batman growled.

"What does Dr. Thompkins think?" Tim asked quietly.

"There's nothing Leslie can do," Batman said. "She went home hours ago."

"That's not what I asked," Tim said.

"I didn't ask her," Batman said. "It's my decision."

Tim crossed his arms. "For the record, I agree with you," he said. Damian shot him a glare that would have stopped the heart of someone less used to it. "But I am not going to be the one to tell the rest of the family."

"Damn it, Drake—" Damian started.

"Look at him, Damian," Tim said. "He's not _moving_."

"I know that!" Damian snapped back.

"But it's Dick. He should be moving. He should have a life. We can't keep him buried down here on the off chance he might snap out of it. Think about what _he_ would want instead of yourself for a change!"

J'onn looked like he was getting ready to sink into the wall to escape the tension. Damian's eyes darted from Tim to Batman and back. "I'm getting Alfred."

 

In the end, J'onn put a stop to the argument by informing them that the longer they waited, the harder it would be to successfully repair Dick's mind to any degree. Batman told him to do it in no uncertain terms.

To Damian's utter horror, Alfred agreed with Batman, as did Duke. When J'onn had shut himself in the infirmary to work, Damian called the Clocktower where Cass and Steph had decided to keep Babs company while waiting for news on Dick's condition.

It was so late it was early and Cass answered the video feed bleary-eyed and fuzzy-haired. Steph took a little longer to stumble into coherence, and Barbara joined them last, nudging them out of the way as she wheeled up to the desk where they were huddled around the feed.

They all woke up quickly when Damian explained the situation (and then Tim explained it again with more accurate details and less swearing).

"That's… they're already doing it?" Babs asked. "Of course they are. Heavy-handed, B," she muttered.

"Good," Cass opined. "Dick needs…" She gestured in a vaguely circular motion, her normal expression of trying to figure out how to verbalize a concept. "Life."

"It's not life, it's a _lie_ ," Damian growled.

"Okay, but how is this even going to work?" Stephanie asked. "Dick knows _everyone_. And what about Bludhaven? What'll it do to crime rates if Nightwing suddenly vanishes?"

"If this is happening, we'll have to keep a close eye on him," Babs said. "Let me guess – Bruce's next step is to inform the League?" Tim confirmed that it was. "Okay. And if I know him, he'll want to transfer Dick to Gotham so we can control his exposure to superhero types. He'll need a place to stay, maybe a source of income… we can't exactly erase his public profile, though. He'll still need to be Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne's ward," she said thoughtfully, already going through her files for the resources she'd need to pull this off.

"This is absurd," Damian grumbled. Barbara paused.

"Well, you're right," she said. Damian looked up in surprise. "It _is_ absurd. But that's our lives. I agree that B's being kind of a dick about this, and I wish he'd talked it through with all of us. I'd rather be able to look in on Dick happy and oblivious than have him out cold in the basement for the rest of his life, but this plan is still risky. Has there been any discussion about what happens if it fails? What it looks like if something does trigger Dick's memory?"

"According to J'onn it would have to be something pretty extreme. It's not like he's papering over the memories with Kleenex," Tim said. "But apparently if it does happen he'll most likely just fall back into the coma, no worse than he is now. Except less chance of waking up again."

"Most likely?" Babs asked.

"J'onn just didn't want to speak in absolutes. This kind of thing isn't common, so it's hard to say for— hey!"

Damian shoved Tim out of the way. "What he means is that they have no idea what they are doing and are taking an unnecessary risk with Grayson's mind," he said.

"I can't believe you want him to be a _vegetable_ for the rest of his life," Tim said, shoving his way back into view.

"Just because _you_ don't believe in him doesn't mean all of us are willing to put him at risk. We won't be able to control every element of his life!" Damian insisted.

"It's not like seeing the Batsignal is going to break him," Tim said. "J'onn said so. It'd take more, actual conversation with one of us for example. Serious reminders, multiple exposures, that kind of thing."

"Well, we'll make sure that _doesn't_ happen, then," Steph said fiercely. "The League will cooperate."

"Jason," Cass said. Everyone froze for a moment.

"He wouldn't deliberately hurt Dick," Steph said. "Would he?"

"No," said Cass, at the same time as Tim said, "Depends."

"They're on good terms last I checked," Babs said. "Or, not bad terms, at least. We have to tell him, but… has anyone heard from him lately?"

No one had. Jason had been out of Gotham for at least a month, or if he was in Gotham he was laying low. Babs sighed.

"I'll find him," she said. Which meant she would also have to be the one to explain all of this to him. That would be fun.

 


	2. Chapter 2

A bell jangled and Dick looked up, bright smile ready. It faded into something slightly more natural when he saw it was just his boss coming through the door, then brightened again when he saw her holding an iced coffee in either hand.

"Is one of those for me?"

"One delicious iced latte for me, one… whatever the hell this is… for my dear minion," she confirmed. Laine Bertrand was the sole owner and proprietor of Read the Rainbow, an LGBTQ bookshop nestled on a quiet side street in a not-quite-bad, not-quite-good part of Gotham. She was sixty-eight, round, had bright turquoise hair, and _almost_ came up to Dick's collarbone. Dick had known they were going to be great friends right away, but Laine had taken some convincing. After two weeks, though, she'd warmed up to him.

"You've never heard of an Arnold Palmer?" Dick asked innocently.

"Those have tea. This does not have tea. It's coffee and lemon and enough sugar to send a bee into diabetic shock. Your stomach is going to eat itself in self-defense."

Dick grinned and took a long sip.

"Ugh. Youth," Laine complained. "Well, congrats on surviving your probationary period, minion. Try to make it another two weeks, yeah? Breaking in new workers is a pain."

Dick blinked. "I was on probation?"

"And now you're off of it. Well done. Did a box come while I was out?"

"You mean during the ten minutes it took you to walk across the street and get coffee? No," Dick said. The café across the street was called Back to the Grind and they liked Laine. She was their most frequent customer. Dick was of the opinion that Beth, the manager, liked Laine for more reasons than that but Laine told him he was required to work for her at least a month before he was allowed to have an opinion on her love life, and another month after that before he was allowed to voice that opinion. That didn't stop Dick from grinning when Laine checked her hair and makeup in the mirror before a coffee run.

"Well, keep an eye out for it. How late are you here tonight?" Laine was the one who set his hours, and he was her only employee, but she never could remember when he was scheduled.

"You told me seven. You need me to stay later?"

"Nah, I don't want you walking home when it gets dark," Laine said. She lived above the shop, so it wasn't an issue for her. Half the time she opened the store early or kept it open late just because she was bored and figured she might as well. Read the Rainbow was definitely the passion project of a retired person.

"I'm only a couple blocks away," Dick said. "And Gotham's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. I've never felt unsafe."

"That is because you are an optimistic fool. And you've only been in the city a few weeks – just wait until you live through your first Arkham breakout."

"Can't wait," Dick said with a grin. Laine shook her head and ducked into the tiny closet of an office behind the counter to take another stab at the bookkeeping she'd abandoned in favor of caffeine.

They chatted their way through a slow shift, the few people wandering in not in need of any help. Dick watched the traffic go by through the huge picture window at the front of the store. He had a good view of Back to the Grind and their little collection of sidewalk tables, empty as usual since no one wanted to be outside in the heat. But Beth had strung little yellow lights around the umbrellas and after the sun went down there were sometimes a few people who'd brave it.

Laine's box arrived around five and Dick spent the last two hours of his shift checking in, tagging, and shelving the new arrivals. The store was organized by genre like any other bookstore, but each book when it arrived was tagged with a little pride flag sticker on the spine (or more than one) indicating who was represented in the story. They had a database that let them check character orientations, but mostly Dick just asked Laine; it seemed she'd read _everything_ , and what's more, remembered it all.

"Do you want _Dread Nation_ in historical fiction or sci-fi?" he asked now. It was the last thing he had to shelve.

"Both," Laine said. "Um… seventy-five percent sci-fi, twenty-five percent historical."

Dick looked at the six books in his hands. "Uh."

Laine shoved her chair back from the desk in the office and tipped back until she was looking at him upside down. "Oh. Two and four, then."

"Ten-four." Dick gave her a little salute and went to put them in their proper places.

"And go home!" Laine shouted from the front of the store. "It's 7:01! You don't get overtime!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" He trotted back up to the front of the store, shoved the now-empty box out of the way under the counter, and left. "See you tomorrow!" he called over the jingle of the bell.

Outside he let the sounds and smells of the city wash over him. He glanced up to the rooftops once, a habit that, if he ever thought about it, he figured must have come from his trapeze days. Then he walked home to his small apartment on the second floor of a building just a few blocks away, microwaved something for dinner, and dropped onto his couch with a sigh to turn his brain off for a few hours. He was vaguely aware that his job wasn't particularly taxing and that he shouldn't feel this wrung out after a day at work at a job he enjoyed, but his brain felt _stretched_. Probably he was still adjusting to the move, the new job, the new place… he'd get used to it. He stayed up late, though; tired as he felt, his body just didn't seem to be wired for early evenings.

 

Batgirl watched Dick enter his apartment and reported back to Oracle. All quiet on the Western front. She'd make another pass by his place toward the end of her patrol. It was her turn to watch over him and so far it'd been entirely uneventful. Red Robin had been shadowing him the past few days and had had to discourage two overly interested parties from trying anything: one when Dick, restless, wandered out for a nighttime stroll and another who'd been trying to break into his apartment. Batgirl kind of thought J'onn would have left basic civilian survival instincts in Dick's mind while he'd been in there, but apparently not. He left his windows unlocked and walked the streets like nothing could hurt him.

Batgirl rose from where she'd been crouched on the roof across the street from Dick's building and stretched her arms over her head, fingers interlocked.

"Well this is just pathetic," came a modulated voice from behind her.

She gave a little yelp and spun. "Hood!" She pressed a hand over her heart. "Give a girl a heart attack, why don't you. Where have you been?"

"Around," he said.

"Uh, did… did Oracle get in touch?"

"She sure did. I had to see it for myself." His arms were crossed, his helmet pointed toward Dick's window, which still didn't have curtains. Batgirl was pretty sure he was glaring.

"Right, so, you know the drill? No contact. Like, don't even let him see you." The helmet turned slowly to face her and Batgirl tensed a little. Jason could be unpredictable, especially where family matters were concerned.

"You think I'm gonna swing down there and undo all your hard work? Shatter poor Dickie's brain?" Red Hood asked.

"No," Batgirl said, sticking her chin out stubbornly. "Because that would be _really mean_."

There was a moment of silence and then Red Hood laughed, sounding surprised even through the helmet's mics. "Sure," he said. "All right."

"We're looking out for him," she said. "We have a rotation and everything."

"Is that a threat?"

"What? No, if it was a threat it'd be like ' _Don't you go near him, he's protected,'_ " she said, pitching her voice low into a bat-growl, or her best attempt at one. "It was more like, just FYI. And I guess if you wanted to take a turn—"

"Let me make this clear," Red Hood interrupted. "This is _exceedingly_ stupid, and Bruce was stupid to let it happen. I'm not speaking to him and I am definitely not joining your chore wheel."

"Okay, okay," Batgirl said, putting her hands up. "Chill, Chippy McShoulder. But if you're so uninterested, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Like I said: I had to see it for myself." Red Hood shook his head. "Of all the overbearing, guilt-ridden—" He stopped himself. "I hope Bruce is happy."

Batgirl snorted. "What do you think?"

"Yeah. Well. That's something anyway. Hell of a thing to come home to, though, you know?" He said the last part almost to himself, so Batgirl didn't answer. "Have fun on babysitting duty," he said, more loudly. "Call me when this all blows up in Bruce's face." He fired a line off into the night and was gone. Batgirl sighed, took one last look to make sure Dick was staying put, and took off to start her own patrol.

 

* * *

 

"Oh. You came back."

"You say that every day, boss," Dick said, shaking his umbrella out before letting the door close. Even the rain was hot, but the store's air conditioning still felt unpleasantly chilly on his wet skin.

"You know the point of umbrellas is to keep you dry," Laine said.

"Yeah. Someone tell that to the wind." Dick tossed the umbrella under the counter. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"You will stand in the window and look pretty. I will run a bookstore."

"Right. Because you didn't hire me to help with that or anything."

Laine shrugged. "You can dust if you want."

Dick grimaced. "How about I stand in the window and look pretty."

"Capital idea. Oh, while you're at it, change out the display. School's starting, we need to lure the children into this den of iniquity and give the PTA something to complain about." She handed him a list of books she wanted in the display and a very poorly sketched diagram of what it would look like. Dick turned it one way, then the other.

"Do we _have_ a papier-mâché rainbow?"

Laine looked offended. "Of course we do. What kind of bookstore do you take me for? It's upstairs."

Dick spent most of the morning taking way too much time with the display. It was a slow day; the rain kept the foot-traffic down and they were too far from the nearest bus stop for anyone to want to duck in while they waited. Laine went upstairs to take a lunch break and Dick switched _Everything Leads to You_ with _Annie on My Mind_ in his book rainbow for the umpteenth time, trying to decide which spine was more pink.

A man walked past the window, glancing at Dick's work, then glancing again. He grinned at Dick through the window and Dick smiled back his helpful, I-want-to-sell-you-a-book smile. It must have worked, because the man walked in.

"Hi," Dick said, straightening up. "Looking for anything specific?"

The man was a little shorter than Dick, with highly gelled brown hair, brown eyes behind vanity glasses, and an unfortunate attempt at a goatee. He was dressed in skinny jeans and a green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which looked nice enough but he must be dying in this heat, and he wasn't carrying an umbrella so his shoulders had rain spots on them. He was also eyeing Dick with very little subtlety.

" _Oh_ yeah," the man said with a smile that was bordering on a leer. Dick dialed his own back a few notches into "professional" rather than "friendly".

"What's the title?" Dick asked, turning to the computer. If Dick's apparent obliviousness to the guy's ham-fisted flirting phased him, or was even noticed, it didn't show.

"I'm more looking for a recommendation. What catches your interest, gorgeous?"

" _American Hippo_ ," Dick said flatly. He'd seen the title while shelving _Dread Nation_ the other day and it was probably the least sexy pair of words in the whole store. The guy blinked.

"Uh, what?"

"Historical fiction. Sarah Gailey. In the back across from the kids' corner." Dick gestured to show him where to go. The guy leaned in.

"Maybe you could show me?"

Dick repressed a sigh. "…Sure."

"I'm Aaron, by the way," the guy said, following Dick toward the back of the store. Dick could feel his eyes on his ass.

Dick yanked a copy of the book off the shelf and handed it to Aaron. "There you go."

Aaron didn't even look at it. "What's your name?"

_None of your business_ , Dick wanted to say. But this guy was a customer and he hadn't technically done anything wrong, had he? Dick grimaced at the thought of trying to explain to Laine why he'd chased someone out of the store because he didn't like the way he smiled. "Richard," he said, because like hell was he giving Aaron any more ammunition.

"Nice to meet you, Richard," Aaron said with a triumphant grin. He was standing smack in the middle of the aisle they'd come down so that Dick couldn't walk back up to the front unless Aaron stood aside – or Dick turned and took a different aisle, which would be fairly rude.

"Well, if that's all you need, I'll ring you up at the front," Dick said.

"Actually, Richard, I could also use your number," Aaron said, stepping closer.

"No," Dick said bluntly, his mouth moving before his brain could soften it. Aaron's eyebrows went up.

"No?"

"Yeah, sorry." (Sorry? What was he _sorry_ for?) "I'm not interested." Dick went to brush past him but Aaron grabbed his arm.

"If you're not into guys you should have just said so," he said angrily. Dick looked at the hand on his arm, then met Aaron's eyes.

"I'm not into _you_. Let go."

"Hey," Aaron said, dropping his arm and raising his hand with a step back. "Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but I'm a nice guy. You just gotta give me a chance."

"The only thing I have to do is get back to work," Dick said, and now he did push past Aaron, stalking back up the aisle. Aaron took an exaggerated stumble back into a shelf.

"Hey! Is that how you treat customers?" he demanded, just as Laine poked her head around the corner.

"Is there a problem here?" she asked.

"Are you the manager?" Aaron demanded.

"Sure am," Laine said. "Owner, too. There's no higher power."

"Your employee shoved me into that shelf, and he was really rude."

Dick crossed his arms and bit his tongue. He wasn't going to be baited into a fight; he could argue for himself after this guy left, try to explain what had led up to the last bit Laine had seen, though even as he went over it in his head now it seemed kind of pathetic. _Well, boss, he smiled at me and asked for my number so I kept my cool for about half a second and then snapped at him._ Great.

"Hm, seems fake but okay," Laine said.

Dick stared at her. So did Aaron.

"Wh— what?"

"I mean I can check the security footage. We have really good cameras. Vandalism, you know. But I'm guessing I'm going to find one of you behaving like an ass and I highly doubt it's Dick."

"Oh my God," Aaron said. "See if I ever come here again. I'm going to tell all my friends how shitty this place is."

"You have friends?" Laine asked, wide-eyed.

Aaron's face turned a few interesting shades of red (Dick would have put him between _Simon vs. the Homo-Sapiens Agenda_ and _The Rules Do Not Apply_ ). He sputtered once or twice, then stormed out, slamming the book he was still holding down on the counter as he did so.

"Um," Dick said as the bell stilled. "Thanks. For the vote of confidence."

"Yeah, I was watching you on the security cameras upstairs," Laine said, turning to head back to the counter. Dick followed her. "So I know he was full of shit."

"Oh. You were— why were you watching the security cameras? Is that something you normally do on your lunch break?" Dick asked. _Don't you trust me_?

"Because I get a ping when the front door opens and I'm obsessive about my baby. Plus you left the front unattended when you came back here with him," she said. "Which is exactly what you should have done in that situation, I'm not yelling at you. Customers are pains in the ass."

"That's… an odd thing for a store owner to say," Dick said, his head spinning a bit.

"No. _Customers_ are pains in the ass. I run this shop for the readers. Different animal entirely." She took a look at the book Aaron had abandoned and snorted. "Nice."

"He was— uh, sorry. I could have handled that better," Dick said, a little embarrassed now that it was over and Laine didn't seem mad at him.

Or, she _hadn't_ seemed mad at him. Now her scowl was thunderous.

"You listen here, kiddo. We are not so hard up that you need to put up with any shit like that. Assholes like him go after people who can't get away on purpose. That's the only way they could get the time of day from decent human beings. They won't take a hint, and that usually translates to not listening when you flat out tell them 'no,' too, which is a world of trouble waiting to happen. So don't fucking apologize for sticking up for yourself, got it?" Her fists were on her hips and she was glaring up at him like a tiny ball of turquoise fury.

"Got it," Dick said, bewildered. She seemed to realize how intense she'd gotten because she subsided a bit, her scowl flattening out to a normal frown.

"All right. Good. I just don't want you to think— when I told you to stand in the window and look pretty, I didn't mean that's why you're here. That's not why I hired you."

"No, I know," Dick hurried to assure her. Though to be honest he wasn't sure why she had. It wasn't like he could boast any relevant experience, and his name… in cases like this, it tended to work against him.

She eyed him like she was trying to catch him in a lie, then shook her head. "I don't get you, Dick. Did not peg you as the kind of person who would have a problem handling that kind of jerk. Figured you'd have a lot of practice."

"Well you're not wrong about that," Dick muttered. He knew how he looked. Add to that being the highly eligible ward of Bruce Wayne, and yeah. He'd had practice. "I'm just… a little off balance. Life changes and stuff. You know."

"You wanna talk about 'em?"

"Not much to tell. A bad breakup – well, actually it was a bad relationship, the breakup was a good thing, I guess – and then I had this accident. Fell down some stairs. No, really," Dick said at Laine's raised eyebrow. "I hit my head. And I don't know if it was the injury or the breakup or what, but I just needed a change of scenery."

Dick thought about it as he said it. Yes, that sounded right. But it all felt so vague. As if it had happened to someone else. Maybe that's what head injuries were like, though, because the nearly empty contacts list in his phone was proof enough it had happened to him. By the time he'd realized that all his friends were actually his ex's friends, that he only did what she wanted and talked to who she let him talk to, he was so isolated that cutting her out of his life meant cutting out… pretty much everything.

He'd done it anyway, and was proud of himself for doing it, but sometimes he worried a little about how fuzzy the details were. He supposed the combination of a traumatic relationship and a bad fall would do that, though. So here he was in Gotham, starting fresh. At a bookstore. That he couldn't remember applying to. He frowned.

"Hey. Been there," Laine said. "Maybe not the head injury, though that does explain some things about you," she said with a wink. "But the bad relationship thing. Re-inventing yourself. You got this, kid."

"Uh, thanks," Dick said, shaking his head slightly. "Sorry about the drama."

"I'm gay. You do not need to apologize for drama," Laine said, rolling her eyes. "Hey, how's your display coming along?"

Dick grinned, grateful for the subject change, and asked her opinion on the color progression in the snake of book spines now winding down the deep shelf that ran under the picture window. They hung the papier-mâché rainbow together, and then Laine sent him out into the rain to bring her a muffin from Back to the Grind. He did so, checking the calendar and informing her that in five and a half weeks he would be pointing out that she only sent him when she knew Beth wasn't working. She chucked a wadded-up receipt at his head and he ducked out of the store with a laugh, his earlier troubles forgotten.

 

"Why a book store, though?" Jason asked. He was in Babs' kitchen aggressively putting away her groceries for her. Babs only let Jason do it because she knew he needed something to do to keep his hands busy when he came over; it wasn't about him thinking she actually needed the help.

That was one of many things she'd learned about Jason over the past few days. Before, she would have said they had a fine relationship, but it was based mainly on quick conversations held over the coms. Oracle kept Red Hood in the loop and looked out for him just like she did the rest of the Bats, regardless of what Bruce might think about it. Since he'd gotten back from whatever mission he'd been on recently, though, Jason had been showing up in person more often.

"You're dwelling on this a lot for someone who said he was done talking about it," Babs commented wryly.

"He doesn't even read!" A box of rotini rattled into the cupboard.

"He likes audiobooks," Babs said. "Because he doesn't have to sit still." It was still a small effort not to talk about Dick in the past tense.

Jason moved on to her fridge and began organizing her cheese drawer with a soft curse. "Who even hires Dick fucking Grayson as a part-timer, anyway? It's not like B went into everyone's head and removed all memory of Dickie's socialite days. Though," he said, jabbing a package of cheddar at her to punctuate his point. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"Bruce knew he'd need some kind of socialization. Think about it. Most of Dick's friends are in the life. We had to pull all that out. The least we could do was give him a built-in way to meet people. Plus, you know Dick – he wouldn't accept just living idly off of whatever Bruce gave him so we had to give him a job. This is what we could swing on short notice."

"You keep saying 'we' like you had anything to do with this," Jason said, slamming the fridge closed.

"Who do you think did all the real-world editing we needed to make this happen? And anyway, I'm not sure I would have made a different call," Barbara admitted.

"Yeah," Jason said. He leaned against a counter with a huff. "I just don't like how fast it all went down. I leave the city for a week or two and when I come back, Dick's gone. Except not gone, he's right there but I can't— it's fucked up."

"You don't know how to react," Babs said, nodding. "On some level you feel like you should be grieving, but on the other hand, it's not like he's dead." Jason gave her a helpless look. "I know. We're all going through it. Damian took it the hardest; he's not even allowed to look in on him alone because we're not sure he won't do something stupid."

Jason snorted. "You don't have to worry about me doing anything like that." He frowned, forehead creasing. "But hey, how are _you_ dealing? Not like you can just swing by his window whenever you want to check in."

"Oh ye of little faith," Babs said. She pivoted her chair around and went back to her ops hub. A few taps brought up a suite of windows showing the book store and a few traffic cams on routes Dick was likely to take. "Read the Rainbow has an excellent security system. Dick's apartment does not, but I didn't want to risk him finding anything that might make him suspicious. But yeah, I look in on him now and again." Dick was currently bent over the counter, leaning on his forearms, flipping through a magazine. "Riveting stuff."

"I swear, having a voyeurism kink must be a prerequisite for being a Bat," Jason said.

"You telling me you _haven't_ been looping through Dick's neighborhood on your patrols?" Babs asked.

"Shut up. I'm just. You know. Processing."

"Mm. Kinky."

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, what's that?" he asked, pointing at a little yellow flashing alert in the corner of her screen. "Arkham alert?"

"Not a breakout," Babs assured him. "Those are red. Just an incident report." She blew a strand of hair out of her face in an annoyed huff. "It's been weirdly quiet there but I guess it couldn't last. Seems like the whole city is ready to fight, why should Arkham be any exception." She opened the alert and scoffed. "Who the hell thought it was a good idea to give Ivy outdoor recreation time? Oh, gross, it looks like she tried to make Crane's face match his mask."

"Ugh," Jason said, looking over her shoulder at the pictures included with the report. "Arkham is incompetent." He cocked his head, considering the report. "By the way, what happened to the Hatter?" he asked casually.

Babs shot him a look. "Tossed back in Arkham as usual. Locked up tight. He doesn't know anything that could help Dick."

"Maybe he just wasn't asked firmly enough."

"Jason, don't—"

"They're clearly overworked and understaffed. I'll just pop in and ask Tetch a few questions, make sure he's not going anywhere—"

"Leave it alone, Jason." Babs interrupted. "You know what Bruce will think if you suddenly take it into your head to break into Arkham."

Jason's expression closed off, eyes tightening and mouth going flat. He would think Jason was going after the Joker. "Bruce," he spat. "Is not the king of Gotham."

Jason's tentative truce with Bruce and the Bats meant that he wasn't killing people in Gotham, and that included the Joker. All bets were off if the clown turned up outside Arkham's walls, though. Jason would cheerfully drag the Joker two inches outside Gotham city limits (in chains. Behind a fast car.) and execute him there, Bruce be damned. But as long as Arkham could hold him, he'd keep the truce and let him rot, because frankly it was only a matter of time. Still…

"Are _you_ satisfied with what Bruce found out from Tetch?" Jason asked.

"Yeah," Babs said. She closed the incident report and filed it, tagged with the names of everyone involved. "Hatter doesn't know anything that could help. And he already told us he stole the designs for the new crowns from the Riddler so… he really had no idea what he was doing."

"The Riddler? What was he doing with mind-control hats?"

Babs snorted. "Nothing. He apparently considered the designs a failure. He told Tetch about them while they were in Arkham together and Tetch raided one of his old safehouses to find the schematics when he got out."

"I hate it when the bad guys talk to each other," Jason said. "And of course they're all back in Arkham right now, getting cozy. You know, a few blocks of C4 and we suddenly have a lot fewer potential headaches on our hands." Babs gave him a look and Jason huffed out a breath. "Fine, whatever. I'm going to go punch my feelings into someone's face." He plucked up his helmet from where he'd left it on an end table and went to her window.

"You have a case you're working on?" Babs asked.

"Nah, but it's Gotham. She provides," Jason said with a grin. He tipped over the window ledge and was gone. Based on several more police alerts that had just cropped up on Babs' desktop, Gotham was working overtime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books referenced in this chapter:  
> [Dread Nation by Justina Ireland](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30223025-dread-nation): Civil War zombies. Bi main character, aro/ace major character 
> 
> [Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18667779-everything-leads-to-you): Contemporary YA romance. Lesbian main characters 
> 
> [Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/595375.Annie_on_My_Mind): Contemporary YA romance. Lesbian main characters 
> 
> [American Hippo by Sarah Gailey](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36152812-american-hippo): Alternate history (1890s). Bi main character, nonbinary major character (and a really bonkers based-on-a-historical-thing premise that I ended up loving)
> 
> [Simon vs. the Homo-Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19547856-simon-vs-the-homo-sapiens-agenda): Contemporary YA romance. Gay main character (You may also know it as the movie _Love, Simon_ )
> 
> [The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32572166-the-rules-do-not-apply): WLW autobiography


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra update for everyone currently stuck indoors because it's -40 outside, and for everyone who was forced to go to work today anyway :[

Dick was looking down at a little girl whose tight curls had been scraped into two poufs on either side of her head. She was wearing a t-shirt with a mermaid on it and carrying a bright red backpack. She was also noticeably absent any parental figure.

"Uh, hi," Dick said, glancing at the door behind her and wondering if an adult would be walking in soon.

"I like rainbows," the girl said.

"Good," Dick said. "That's good. Me too. Um, are you lo—"

"Hi, sweetie!" Laine interrupted, popping out of one of the aisles where she'd been taking inventory. "Do you like books?"

The girl nodded, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack. "You have blue hair," she said.

"Yes, I know. And you have very cute hair." Laine crouched down in front of her and smiled. "Did your mom do it for you?"

The girl shook her head. "My dad."

"He did a great job. Do you want to call him on the phone and tell him where you are?"

Just then someone ran past the picture window, did a double take, and barreled through the door. "Amalie!" he exclaimed. "There you are!"

"Hi Dad," the little girl – Amalie, apparently – said. "I found a rainbow store."

Her dad was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin a few shades darker than his daughter's, bronze-framed rectangular glasses perched on his nose. "Yes, yes you did." He smiled apologetically at Laine and Dick. "You were supposed to wait at school, though."

"You were late."

"That's true. If that happens again, though, I want you to stay put, okay? You worried me, baby. I couldn't find you."

Amalie looked alarmed. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay. We'll talk about it at home, come on." He held his hand out to her and she took it. "Sorry about that," he said to Dick and Laine.

"Oh, she's free to drop by any time," Laine said.

"They have _books_ , Dad."

"Uh… we've got a library card for that, hon." He said it with a guilty look at Laine.

"Don't worry about it," Laine said. "But, I should tell you, if you join our frequent reader's program you get a free book today. It’s a kids' book. About mermaids."

Amalie gasped audibly. "Daaaaad," she said.

"How much does it cost?" her dad asked.

"Oh, signing up is free. You just have to give Dick there your name and email address. We're out of forms so he'll get you some scratch paper to write it down while I go get your free book."

Dick, who had never heard of the frequent reader's program, grinned and produced a pad of lined paper and a glittery purple pen from the cup by the register. Amalie's dad dubiously wrote down his name and an email address and slid the paper back over to Dick.

"Thanks, Mr. Francis," Dick said after glancing at what he'd written.

"Dan's fine," Dan said.

"Thanks. I'm Dick, and that's Laine back there. She owns the place."

"Oh. Uh, I didn't even know this bookstore was here."

"Best LGBTQ bookstore on the block," Dick said cheerfully.

"In the _city,_ you ingrate," Laine said, emerging from the shelves again. "Okay, kiddo, I see your dad's all signed up. Here's your book!" She handed a copy of _Julián is a Mermaid_ to Amalie with a flourish. Amalie took it in both hands and favored Laine with a huge grin.

"I get to keep it?"

"You sure do. Come back any time and tell us how you liked it. _If_ your dad says it's okay," Laine added. Amalie nodded solemnly, then giggled when Laine winked at her. Laine looked up at Dan. "If she needs a safe place to wait after school," she started.

"That's okay," Dan said. "It's just, new clients at work. I shouldn't be late again. And if I _am_ ," he said, directing this at Amalie, who was now hanging onto his hand. "What do we do?"

"Wait at school," Amalie said dutifully.

"That's right. Now say thank you to these nice people and let's go home."

"Thank you, nice people!" Amalie parroted. Laine and Dick waved as they left to go catch the bus.

"Life lesson for the day," Laine said, turning to Dick. "Never ask a kid if they're lost. Tends to activate the waterworks."

"Noted," Dick said. "Is the other lesson 'make up a rewards program on the spot to justify giving a cute kid a free book'?"

"See, this is why I like you, Dick. You're a quick study," Laine said with a grin. "Anyway, don't worry about it, even if Mr. Francis tells all his friends and we have a mad rush on our hands we can fund it with that grant from the— that grant."

Dick raised his eyebrows. "What grant?"

Laine sighed. "The Wayne Foundation grant."

"Ah," Dick said, putting a few things together from the way she said it. "That's, uh… that's why I got this job, huh?"

"Well, yeah," Laine said, having expended her entire sheepishness stock for the month. "But for what it's worth, it only stipulated that I had to keep you a few weeks and then I could fire your ass without penalty if I wanted."

"Oh. Well. Thanks for not doing that. And sorry about my… Bruce."

Laine gave him a sympathetic look. "Must've been weird, growing up with Bruce Wayne," she said.

Dick shrugged. "I guess. Honestly, I didn't see him much. Bruce kept his distance. Pretty sure he only took me in for tax reasons. He set me up on my own as soon as I turned eighteen, and we don't really talk much anymore." Dick remembered a lot of nights wandering around an enormous empty manor, trying not to get in Alfred's way or take too much of his time. He remembered being in the media spotlight often enough to develop a distaste for it, and remembered making a deliberate decision to fade out of that life – which was why he could get away with not being recognized too often while he worked at a bookstore.

"That sounds lonely."

"It is," Dick said pensively. He blinked. "Was. I'm good now."

"Okay," Laine said. "If you say so."

Dick ignored her skeptical look and changed the subject by offering to fetch coffee. By the time he got back, the issue had been dropped.

 

Dick figured they'd seen the last of Amalie and her dad, but they walked back into the shop the very next day.

"Hi!" Amalie said. Today she was wearing a t-shirt with a unicorn on it.

"Hi," Dan echoed. "Uh, we were gonna walk home today and she wanted to stop in and say hi."

"Hi," Dick said. "Good to see you."

"I know a joke!" Amalie said.

"Oh yeah?" Dick asked. "Let’s hear it."

"How do you know the ocean is friendly?" she said, enunciating carefully.

"Oh, I know this one. Because it waves?"

Instead of laughing, Amalie looked crestfallen. "Yeah. Everyone at school knew it too."

"Hey, it's still a good joke," Dan said.

"And," Dick said. "I bet Laine could help you find a really good book of jokes. She knows every book ever written." Dan barely had time to look hesitant before Dick added, "You'd have to get it from the library, though. We don't really have joke books here."

Dan smiled. "Yeah, that sounds good. What do you think, Amalie?"

"Joke book!" Amalie agreed.

"Laine will be in tomorrow when you get off school. I'll tell her what you're looking for and she'll get you some titles."

"Thanks, man," Dan said. "Hey, that frequent reader thing. Can I put someone else on my account?"

"…Yyyes," Dick decided. "You can."

"Great. Her mom's got her next week and she's a little more— well, she likes buying Amalie things. Figure it couldn't hurt. They'll probably end up in here."

"Mom buys me books, but dad makes pancakes," Amalie said. "And does my hair."

"So basically an even trade," Dan said wryly. "Okay, squirt, you told your joke. Dick's busy, so say bye."

"Bye!" Amalie said. They both left with smiles on their faces, which made Dick smile too.

After that, Amalie and her dad (and sometimes her mom) were regular visitors. Dick missed their next few visits, but Laine had apparently recommended a very good joke book because Amalie had a new one for him every time she walked in the door. Dick found that he was actually uncannily good at solving riddles, but he took to acting like he didn't know the answers because Amalie was so delighted to deliver her punchlines.

They had a few other regulars, mostly older readers in the community who remembered a time when having an LGBTQ bookshop would have been unthinkable. They bought something every time they came in, and Dick looked forward to their visits – though most of the time they ended up recommending books to him, rather than the other way around.

Laine and Beth continued to dance around each other. Dick was half convinced they were actually seeing each other in secret and keeping up the pretense just to frustrate him. All the baristas at Back to the Grind were in the same boat as Dick and commiserated with him with rolled eyes and little hearts drawn on Laine's to-go orders.

"We're going to need more Adam Silvera," Dick said, checking the stock sheets. "Just… all of his books. He got a movie coming out or something? There was a run on them."

"Not that I know of," Laine said. The door jingled and Dick looked over.

"Hey, Amalie!" he said. Her dad wasn't with her; he'd finally agreed that she could just wait at the shop after school when he was going to be a little late picking her up. Dan was a social worker, so sometimes his schedule could be a little unpredictable if a client needed extra help suddenly or if an appointment ran over.

"What do you call a bear with no teeth?" Amalie said by way of greeting.

_A gummy bear_. Dick made a show of thinking it over. "I don't know," he said. "What?"

"A gummy bear!" Amalie said, and then cackled with her head thrown back and her arms flung wide, her standard punchline delivery stance. Even if he already knew the jokes, that always made Dick laugh.

"Nice one," he said. "You got time to look through a book before Dad gets here?"

Amalie thought it over, then nodded decisively. Dick pulled out _Red: A Crayon's Story_ from under the counter and handed it to her. Amalie was careful with books, so they let her read whatever she wanted in the store. When she finished one, she would give them her review and they'd write it down on a card and tape it to the shelf next to the book. Parents who didn't know what to buy almost always ended up with an Amalie pick, and it made Dan feel better about using them as a baby-sitting service once in a while.

"Is that the last copy of _Red_?" Laine asked from the office.

"Nope. We've got four."

"Good. Go home."

Dick blinked. "Because those four copies are going to watch the store for you?"

"No, because your shift ended half an hour ago and you need to get a life."

Amalie cackled at that and Dick put his hands up in defeat. "Okay, okay, I'm going! Don't let her send you for coffee, kid," he joked to Amalie.

"But last time she gave me five dollars," Amalie said.

"She what?" Dick demanded.

"That was supposed to be our secret Amalie!" Laine called.

"How come I don't get five dollars for fetching coffee?" Dick protested.

"You get a paycheck, Dick, one that I'm going to start withholding if you don't get out of my sight!"

"Going!"

Dick ducked out the door. The heat rolled over him, the very buildings exhaling it as the sun finally started providing some shadows long enough for relief. He waved to one of the baristas wiping down the outdoor tables across the street and turned his steps toward home.

When he reached his building, though, he stared at it for a few moments and then just kept walking. The thought of going back up to his apartment, sitting alone surrounded by walls, made him want to crawl out of his skin. He glanced up at the tall buildings around him and entertained a brief fantasy about flying between them, far above the traffic and the people, with no net beneath him. Maybe he should join a gym or something to work out this restless energy.

One police car and then another came screaming around a corner, sirens preceding them with just enough notice that people crossing the street could scamper to the safety of the sidewalk. They whipped past Dick, and then a moment later a third followed them. Dick turned and had jogged three steps after them before stuttering to a halt, confused. What… had he been planning on doing? Chasing police cars? That wasn't him.

He shook his head and kept walking his original route, which wasn't much of a route at all. His path meandered through the neighborhood around his apartment. People sat with legs sprawled across their front steps, fanning themselves and arguing irritably. It seemed like everyone was snapping at each other, even the people on phones who passed him. The owner of a corner store chewed out a kid for loitering. A beat cop was hustling along a homeless woman, becoming more and more irritated when she didn't move fast enough. Someone across the street was filming it.

The sun sank lower and Dick sighed and circled the block, turning back to the apartment he didn't yet think of as home. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to accomplish wandering aimlessly, but whatever it was, he hadn't. Might as well give it up. He took his phone out idly as he walked, glancing at it as if there was actually a possibility anyone might have messaged him. Habit. He glanced up one more time before he stepped through the door, scanning the empty rooftops. One of these days he'd see something that made it worthwhile, he was sure.

 

"It is like he is waiting for something," Robin said. He was sitting against a stairwell enclosure on a roof a few buildings away, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them while he thought.

Black Bat didn't answer.

"He doesn't go out. He has no life outside of that infernal bookstore. The _real_ Grayson would be surrounded by a dozen apostles this long after moving to a new neighborhood. This one sleeps ten hours a night and keeps staring off into space when he's awake. Something is wrong."

"Adjustment period," Black Bat suggested. Robin snorted.

"It has been weeks."

Black Bat cocked her head at him, then joined him on the ground mimicking his position. "Different memories, different person," she said. Robin opened his mouth to interject, but Black Bat held up a hand, indicating that she wasn't finished, she just needed time to gather the words. "Body memory, though," she said at last. "Still moves like Dick."

Robin turned that over in his mind. If anyone could say that with authority just from watching someone walk around, it would be Black Bat. The contents of Dick's mind might have changed, but his body still remembered who he really was. It was like the ghost of Dick Grayson was walking around Gotham, or maybe like the ghost of some random, boring commoner had possessed Dick Grayson. Robin huffed out a breath.

"Unhappy," Black Bat commented. Robin didn't have to ask if she was referring to him, herself, Dick, or anyone else in the family. It was true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books referenced in this chapter:  
> [Julián is a Mermaid by Jessica Love](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26532714-juli-n-is-a-mermaid): Children's picture book with some joyful gender nonconformance 
> 
> [Adam Silvera](http://www.adamsilvera.com/about-1/): an author and not, in fact, a book; writes contemporary YA m/m romances
> 
> [Red: A Crayon's Story by Michael Hall](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22249668-red): Children's picture book about a blue crayon that's been mistakenly labeled red (yes, it's a metaphor for being trans, and it's lovely)


	4. Chapter 4

The school year was well underway before Read the Rainbow received a complaint. Laine was delighted. "They wrote a _letter_ ," she said with glee. "And slid it under our door. Look!" She spread it out on the counter and read a few choice phrases. "' _Luring_ children in with bright colors', 'shoving an agenda down schoolchildren's throats', oh, and my favorite, 'I'm all for diversity _but..._ ' Ha."

"Is this going to be a problem?" Dick asked, a little confused by Laine's reaction.

"No. This happens every year when school starts and some new parent discovers how close their child is going to be to _people like us_ ," Laine said. "And then again in June. This one didn't even have the guts to leave their name, just signed it 'concerned community members' which means it's one person who wants us to think they're more people." She pulled the paper shredder out from under the counter and fed the letter into it, her grin growing as it became ribbons. "So cathartic. Never gets old."

"Well I'm glad you're happy." Dick said, watching the ritual shredding with considerably less enthusiasm. "I think that's kind of awful. If that really is a parent, they're raising a kid like that."

"They can try," Laine said. "Do you know what happens when a book gets banned?"

"Uh, people can't read it?" Dick ventured.

"No. Sales skyrocket. Library circulation goes up. Bookstores sell out. Because you can't ban a book everywhere, at least not these days and not in this country. People see that someone went to all the trouble to get a school board or local shop or library to outlaw a book and they get curious. They find it somewhere else and the ideas spread."

"I get it," Dick said. "Some parent declares this shop off-limits and the kid gets curious?"

"You got it. Kid might listen for a little while but eventually, they gotta know. Kids who'd never have set foot in here suddenly want to know what all the fuss is about and come sneaking in. Give it 'til about October, you'll see. Happens every year. You can tell which kids they are. I keep a list of books with discrete covers – stealth gay, if you will – for the occasion."

"You have… really thought this through."

"Yes, well, if they're going to accuse me of deliberately corrupting the youth I might as well do it properly."

The bell jingled and Amalie walked in, trailed by Dan. Laine and Dick chorused a greeting.

"Um, I actually have something I need today," Dan said. "I want to read it for work. Do you have _Queer Brown Voices_?"

"Hmm, Quesada? I think I saw a copy the other day. Come on over to Nonfiction."

Laine and Dan ventured into the shelves and Dick smiled at Amalie, who was waiting patiently. "Well? Let's have it," he said.

"What's Red Hood's favorite kind of punctuation?" she said, stumbling a little over the last word but eventually getting it right.

_Semi-colons_. _Wait, what?_ That didn't make any sense. "Uhh, I… have no idea. What is it?"

"Bullet points!"

"Bullet— where'd you get that one?" Dick asked, a startled laugh escaping even though he was slightly alarmed that this little girl was enough of a Red Hood fan to find that joke funny. A joke about shooting people!

"Billy McDonald. He's in second grade."

"Did you tell your dad that joke?"

"Yes," Amalie said. She crossed her arms. "He didn't like it. He said it was violent."

"It is a little violent, Amalie. How about another one from your book?"

She grinned and dug it out of her backpack. Dick wasn't sure how many times she must have renewed it from the library at this point; she always had it with her. She opened to her bookmark and read carefully. "What do you call a shoe made from a banana?"

_A slipper_ , Dick's brain supplied. Well good, that made sense. That last one must have been a fluke. "I dunno. What?"

"A slipper!" Dick laughed with Amalie as Dan emerged with the book he needed. Laine rang him up and he and Amalie headed home.

"You get a good one today?" Laine asked.

"Yeah. What do you call a shoe made from a banana?"

"Hmm. Something to do with the peel? Loafers would be bread. Banana bread?" Laine was notoriously terrible at figuring out riddles but her thought process was always entertaining. "Is there a kind of shoe that's a play on banana? Like boat shoes? Because Banana Boat? Sunscreen? I'm going with boat shoes, final answer."

"Slippers," Dick said with a grin.

"I was close!" Laine said triumphantly.

"Sure you were."

"Hey, you never even come up with guesses," Laine said. "You haven't gotten a single one of her jokes right since day one."

"No. No I have not," Dick agreed.

"Ah, look at the two of us, outwitted by a six year old. What sad lives we lead."

"Speak for yourself, my life is awesome," Dick said.

Laine gave him a skeptical look.

"What?"

"Not to put too fine a point on it, but—"

"You? Never," Dick murmured.

"—but you've been in Gotham a month now and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm your best friend."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short," Dick said.

"Was that a crack about my height?" Laine demanded.

Dick mock gasped. "I would never stoop so low."

Laine glowered at him, but it was her friendly glower so Dick just grinned more broadly. "You're on thin ice, Grayson."

"You love me."

"I _tolerate_ you. In fact, I'm sending you home early," Laine said with a decisive nod.

"What?"

"You heard me. Take the rest of the afternoon off. I am ordering you to go out and have some fun. Meet some people your own age."

Dick's smile faltered. "I'm not sure—"

"Look," Laine said, uncharacteristically serious. "You were hurt. I get that. But you can't isolate yourself, Dick. I've seen you staring at your phone, like you went to go text someone and then remembered you weren't speaking to them. You need _new_ someones in your life. Go out and live a little. You've got evening shift tomorrow and I expect you to come in and regale me with tales of adventure. Now go." She pointed firmly at the door.

"All right," Dick said, still hesitant. "I guess… I can do that." He could always just go back to the apartment like usual and make something up for tomorrow. "Thanks, boss." He slipped out the door.

He started up the street, frowning. Laine meant well, but this was unnecessary. Dick had _friends_. He knew all of the baristas at Back to the Grind by name. He and his neighbor Erika chatted whenever they saw each other in the hall. There was Amalie and Dan. Just because none of them were the kind of friends you'd randomly text at 3 AM when you had a weird thought… or the kind of friend you'd call to go hang out when you were off work… or someone you'd ask to help you move a couch…

So his social life needed a little rebuilding. Dick squared his shoulders as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. That was fine. He could do that. He was _good_ at that. Or, he thought he was. He had been. He couldn’t think of any actual examples of befriending people on his own at the moment, but yeah, he felt like he should probably be good at that.

"Okay, so I should maybe put some effort into this," he admitted to his empty apartment. This was Gotham. There were plenty of places to go to meet people. He scrolled through search results on his phone while he pawed through his closet looking for something to wear. He had hours yet before any sort of nightlife would be active, so he ate, took a nap, and showered.

He decided on a club that looked relatively casual. No one could tell you were alone on a crowded dance floor, so if he didn't feel like having an actual conversation that would work out fine. Plus it was way too hot for an Oxford or blazer so he wanted somewhere where washed out grey jeans and a short-sleeved shirt just a step above a regular old t-shirt wouldn't look too out of place.

He ran his hands through his hair, decided that "tousled" was good enough, pulled on his shoes and felt prepared to face the night. He had one leg over the window sill before he stopped himself, confused, and slowly pulled it back in.

Had he seriously just tried to climb out the _window_? There wasn't even a fire escape. He stood in front of the still-open window, looking out of it, perplexed. Then he blinked, checked his phone, and realized ten minutes had passed. He couldn't remember why he was staring out the window, but having it open was kind of dumb. He slammed it closed and went out the front door.

 

An hour later and Dick was thinking that Laine might have been on to something after all. He was in the thick of the dance floor, bodies on all sides, a hot guy pressing his chest to Dick's back and a hot woman pressing her back to Dick's chest as they all three moved to the music.

They hadn't gotten quite as far as names yet, but Dick knew the guy and the girl were together. He had come up behind Dick, got close to his ear and asked "Can I?" before hovering a hand over Dick's hip.

Dick had smiled over his shoulder at him and pressed the hand closer, giving permission to touch, and leaned back into the guy. "And her?" the man had asked with a nod at the woman with cherry-red hair who was dancing in front of them. She couldn't have heard him, but she smiled and moved closer, her eyebrows asking a question. Dick had held out a hand and she'd spun into him.

The woman was a head shorter than Dick, broad-shouldered and wide-hipped and perfectly gorgeous. The guy was as tall as Dick, toned, blonde, and equally gorgeous. His hands moved so that one grasped the woman's hip and the other slid around Dick's side to splay low on Dick's stomach. The woman reached a hand back to rest on Dick's hip on the opposite side and Dick did the same to her on the side her friend hadn't reached and the three of them moved together in a tangle of limbs pulsing to a beat they could feel through all three of their bodies.

Dick tipped his head back onto the guy's shoulder and laughed and they danced like that for another two songs. The woman broke off to get to the bar and returned with a plastic cup in either hand; mojitos, based on the mint leaves. She offered one to Dick, who shook his head. The guy took it instead and downed it. Dick disengaged at one point to find some water and when he went back out on the floor they approached him again, asked him _again_ before they touched him, and Dick found he liked that very much.

After a few songs, the girl spun and braced her hands on Dick's chest so she could lean forward on tip-toe to say something in her friend's ear. He leaned forward to hear her, then grinned at Dick. When the song ended, flowing into another, he said, "You wanna go someplace quieter?"

Dick nodded and the girl took his hand and he took the guy's hand and they snaked their way off the dance floor. She opened a side door with her hip and they spilled out into the narrow alley the club was on, the guy fetching up against the brick of the opposite building and dragging Dick with him, pulled against his chest. The woman dropped Dick's hand and came up behind him, reaching around to grab her friend's hips, bracketing Dick in. The door swung shut, cutting off the music abruptly and all three of them took deep breaths.

"I'm Dominique. That's Isaac," the woman said.

"Hi," Dick breathed, his hands on Isaac's shoulders, his face very close. "I'm Dick."

"We want you to come home with us," Isaac said.

"No pressure," Dominique said, pulling away. Isaac turned Dick around gently so that his back was to Isaac's chest again. "But it would be a lot of fun." She came closer and ran a hand down Dick's chest, down his stomach, then stopped, looking him straight in the eyes and making sure she had his attention. "Tell us to back off and we will."

"Uh," said Dick, his brain riding high on the endorphins dancing and being touched had produced.

Isaac's hands on his hips were light, but his voice in Dick's ear was not. "You wanna fuck me? Or I could fuck you. While you fuck her." His voice vibrated right down Dick's spine and he shivered.

"I think he likes that idea," Dominique said. She grinned up at him. "But I wanted to suck you off," she whispered to Dick. "Right now, while Isaac watches, holding you against him, and then make him wait 'til we get home to fuck you." Then she dropped to her knees right there in the alley, her hands reaching for Dick's belt.

Dick swallowed hard and stared down at her, felt Isaac's hand wandering up under his shirt, his tongue flicking out at Dick's earlobe. He felt—

Like this was happening to someone else.

"Wait," he said. Isaac froze and Dominique's hands retreated. She stayed on her knees, looking up at him curiously.

"Alley sex not your thing? We can go back to our place like civilized humans. Or yours, if you prefer," Dominique said.

"No, it's not that, I just…" He pushed lightly on Isaac's wrist and he removed his hand from under Dick's shirt, let him go. "This isn't what I'm looking for."

"Damn," said Isaac.

Dominique stood up and brushed off her knees. "No worries," she said.

"What _are_ you looking for?" Isaac asked, a little hopefully.

"I… have no idea." He'd know it when he saw it, though, he was sure of it. What Dominique and Isaac were offering would be fun, but until Dick got his feet under him, figured himself out, he had a feeling it would just leave him with more mismatched puzzle pieces that he could almost (but not quite) make fit in the strange, sharp space inside him. "Sorry. I'm going through some shit. I think I'm just… gonna go home." Home sounded good. _That_ was what he wanted.

"I won't pretend like I'm not disappointed," Dominique said. "If you finish going through your shit, though, you can probably find us here again." She winked at him.

"You good to get home?" Isaac asked.

"Yeah. I haven't been drinking. I'm not far. What about you guys?"

"I rigged the door months ago so we can get back in without paying the door cover again," Isaac said with a grin. "We're gonna keep right on dancing to console ourselves about the fact that no one else in there is as hot as you."

Dick laughed and apologized again, though both Isaac and Dominique waved it off. He left them to their breaking and entering and walked out of the alley, pausing only briefly to get his bearings before turning back toward his apartment. His head was spinning a little, probably because a lot of blood had rushed southward, though he wasn't at the point of discomfort. He was likely just dehydrated.

It was late and the streets were pretty deserted, which was nice after the noise and crush of the club. Dick walked looking up, tracing the outlines of roofs against the sky and enjoying having Gotham to himself. About two blocks from his apartment, though, he passed by an alley and heard an unmistakable shout of pain and what sounded like a body getting slammed against a dumpster.

"Hey!" he shouted, sprinting into the alley before he thought about it. Sure enough, there were two men in the alley, the first bent over the second, who was half sprawled against a dumpster. The first guy was holding the other one by the front of his shirt and had his fist in the air, clearly about to bring it down with punishing force. Dick grabbed his arm before he could finish his swing and the guy whirled.

That was when Dick took in the red helmet. Leather jacket, body armor, guns strapped to thighs that looked just as lethal as the hardware… Dick was clinging to the arm of notorious vigilante, alleged crime boss, and all-around grey-area Red Hood.

"Semi-colons," Dick's brain made his mouth say.

" _What_." Red Hood's voice was modulated and completely devoid of any emotion. Dick realized he was still holding onto his arm and let go of it quickly, but couldn't decide whether backing away slowly, running, or staying absolutely still was a better play.

"Hey," the guy Red Hood had been beating up said. "Hey, help! He's crazy, man, call the cops!"

Red Hood's other fist was still twisted in the guy's shirt and now he pulled him to his feet. "Really? The cops? Want to explain to them how you were waiting around for your next victim, asshole?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the guy babbled. Red Hood hit him hard enough that he fell to the ground when Red Hood let him go. Dick wondered if he should protest, or call the police, but some instinct warned him to just let Red Hood do his thing. Probably abject terror, though that wouldn’t explain why he wasn't running.

Red Hood flipped the guy onto his stomach and zip tied his hands, then seemed to remember Dick. He looked up at him and growled, "Show's over. Get gone."

Dick started like a spooked rabbit. "Right. Um, thanks," he said.

"What?" Red Hood asked for the second time that night.

"His next victim, you said. Probably would have been me. So, thanks."

"Go home and forget this happened," Red Hood snarled.

"Right. Of course. You got it. Going now." Dick backed up the alley, not feeling quite ready to take his eyes off Red Hood, who stood, arms crossed and glowering until Dick turned the corner.  
  


* * *

   
"Shit fuck shit fuck _shit_ ," Jason swore once Dick was out of sight. The guy he'd trussed up whimpered and Jason resisted the urge to apply his boot to his face. Of all people, why did Dick fucking Grayson, looking like he'd just rolled out of an orgy, have to come walking up behind him while he took out a random mugger.

Of course, Jason had known Dick was in the area. It was why _he_ was in the area: because the Batsignal was up and the others didn't think about how a clear sign that the heavy hitters were otherwise occupied meant that the lower class of criminal felt a little bolder. So here was Jason, cleaning up scum like this who waited for anyone stupid enough to stumble home from the clubs alone. And now he'd gone and broken rule number one regarding Dick, and quite possibly broken Dick along with it. The last thing Jason needed was to be responsible for Dick Grayson's untimely demise. At least he hadn't collapsed into a catatonic state on the spot. That was a good sign, right? He was probably fine.

"Shit," Jason said again, and shot a line up to the nearest rooftop to make sure Dick made it home okay.

 

Dick did make it home with no further mishap and seemed perfectly fine when he finally stepped through his door. Jason finished off his evening rounds and tried to put the incident out of his mind. When Jason woke the following morning (or more like following afternoon), though, it was still nagging at him so he wandered down to Read the Rainbow's neighborhood intending to just stroll by the shop and glance through the window.

Dick wasn't there. Well, that was no big deal, it wasn't like he worked all the time. Jason went about his day (and if that meant he passed Dick's apartment building a few times, what of it? Dick had finally hung curtains a week ago and they were closed, so Jason couldn't see anything anyway.) and eventually looped back toward the bookstore as evening gathered.

Dick still wasn't there. Jason hesitated a few moments before crossing the street to the little café with its outdoor tables. He ordered coffee and pulled out the book he always carried with him, settling in to watch.

After an hour or two of watching and reading a grand total of three pages and observing nothing but a "closed" sign on the bookshop door when the blue-haired owner finally shut the place for the night, Jason finally gave in and called Babs.

"What's up, Hood?" she asked, answering promptly.

"Is Dick supposed to be working tonight?"

A frustrated exhalation of breath whooshed down the line. "I have no idea. The lady who runs the store keeps her schedules on like, the back of a napkin or something. If she even makes them. Who knows." She paused. "Why?"

"No reason," Jason said. He got up, ducked into the café to leave a large tip in their jar for taking up a table for so long (even though almost no one else had wanted to sit outside), and ventured out into the city to lose himself in alleyways and shadows.

"No reason?" Barbara asked skeptically. "Really?"

"Just checking in on him."

"BG said you didn't want anything to do with our… what did you call it? Oh yeah, 'chore wheel.'"

"Hey, I was in the neighborhood. And now I'm out of it, so never mind," he huffed.

"If it helps, he hasn't turned up on any of my cameras today which, unless he's actively avoiding them, means he hasn't left his apartment."

"That lazy bum."

"Well if you _happen_ to see him, let me know, okay? Never hurts to have more pings. Oh, hang on, I gotta go. Batsignal just went up, I'm on call."

Sure enough, it had. Jason could see it across town. "Been going on a lot lately."

"Yeah, well. Dad's been on edge. Probably because his entire department needs to be sent for retraining because they keep deciding guns are a _first_ resort."

"Is… is that a thing that's actually happening? Retraining?" Jason asked. The cops _had_ been a little more shooty than usual lately. Not at him, of course. They never got close enough for that. But at people who didn't actually deserve it. You heard about that kind of shit all over the country, though. Jason would be amazed if any police department actually did something about it.

"Of course not," Babs said. "Or if it is I don't know about it. Dad and I are still a little chilly."

"Yeah, what's that like," Jason muttered. He let Babs go so she could get to running point on whatever was going down tonight with one last glance at the bright signal in the sky. He wondered what Gordon would do if Gotham ever had a clear night.

Then he swung by Dick's apartment again, just in case.

 

When Dick didn't show up the next day for work, either, and his curtains remained firmly closed, Jason started to really worry.

"I killed him. I fucking killed Dick and now Bruce is gonna kill _me_ ," he murmured to himself, crouched on the roof adjacent to Dick's building. He'd been trying to talk himself out of going in to check on him, but had ended up doing kind of the opposite. He took a deep breath, dropped down onto the slightly lower roof of Dick's building, attempted to jimmy the roof door only to find out the lock was busted anyway, and headed down to Dick's floor.

Earlier, he'd planted mics on the windows and had spent a few hours listening to them intently through the hood. They hadn't picked up any sounds of movement, which wasn't reassuring. Either Dick was sleeping, he wasn't there, or he was comatose on the floor because _Jason had broken his brain_.

So now Jason had stashed the hood and anything identifiably vigilante-ish and was dressed in civilian clothes to break into Dick's apartment.

He was about to go to work on his lock when the door swung open. Jason took a hasty step back. Dick was slouched in the doorway, clutching the doorframe to keep upright and only sort of succeeding. He blinked blearily up at Jason.

"Uh, wrong apartment," Jason muttered, turning away.

"'Kay," Dick mumbled and staggered out of the door. He had a set of keys clutched in one hand, probably because his outfit, consisting of blue and black plaid pajama pants and a bright red tank top, didn't have pockets. He was also barefoot and made it only one step before pitching forward. Jason caught him and Dick pushed weakly against his chest, though he didn't seem like he was trying to get away so much as stand on his own. He didn't succeed.

"Hey, whoa, hang on, where do you think you're going?" Jason asked. Dick's skin was _hot_. Jason could feel it through his own shirt where Dick was still leaning on him.

"Soup," Dick mumbled vaguely. "Meds. Groceries. Out." He gestured vaguely with the hand that was holding the keys and dropped them. More of his weight fell on Jason.

"Yeah, no," Jason said. He kicked Dick's keys back over the threshold and propped Dick up so he could pull one of his arms over his shoulders and guide him back in, arm around his waist. Dick's feet dragged, his steps hesitating and slow. Luckily the couch wasn't far from the door. Jason lowered him to it in a sitting position and Dick immediately wilted to the side, pressing a cheek into the cushions.

"Damn," Jason said, crouching in front of the couch and pressing a hand on Dick's forehead. Way too hot. He left Dick on the couch and found his bathroom. A quick search of the medicine cabinet turned up some Tylenol. Jason filled the toothbrush cup with water and brought two tablets out to Dick. "Take these."

Dick didn't argue, didn't even glance at what he'd been handed, just swallowed obediently. Jason frowned and took the cup from him. Under the pretense of returning it to the bathroom, he placed a few button cameras in hard-to-spot places along the way. If Dick was this bad there was no way he'd notice, and Jason could just sneak in and remove them when Dick was healthy again.

A glance through Dick's kitchen explained why he'd been about to go to the store despite his condition. There was no food that could be easily prepared, not in Dick's state. Not even a can of soup.

"Next time just order in," Jason said, exasperated. "Hey, are you listening?" He went back to the couch and crouched in front of Dick again. "Do not leave this apartment. You. Are. Sick."

"'S just a cold," Dick murmured.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course it is. Okay, look, I'm ordering you some food, all you have to do is answer the door when the delivery guy gets here, all right?"

Dick peered up at him, expression sharpening suddenly. "Wait. Who… who are you?"

_Crap._ "No one. A neighbor. You're dreaming," Jason said. Good. Smooth. That was his cue to leave. "Feel better."

He fled.  
  


* * *

  
Dick woke face-down on the couch, drenched in sweat. "Ugh," he said experimentally. That felt pretty good, so he said it again, more drawn out this time. He pushed himself up and peeled off the tank top he was wearing, used it to wipe excess moisture from the back of his neck, and wandered into his bedroom to drop it into the rest of his dirty laundry. The vaguely damp pajamas followed it. It was only then that he realized that he was standing without leaning on anything, not in the least dizzy, not shivering, not in pain. Well, a little pain, but it was the kind that came from sleeping on your stomach on a couch for a day, not the blinding, all-consuming migraine that had spread like a plague from his skull, down his spine, into his hips and knees, and back up again twice as strong.

He shuddered a little remembering it and made his next stop the shower to wash off the fever sweat and forget this had ever happened. Halfway through rubbing shampoo into his hair he realized he had no idea what day it was, how long he'd been out, or how much work he'd missed. He scrubbed out the suds and rinsed off hurriedly, swiping at himself with a towel while he darted around the apartment searching for his phone.

He found it on the floor half shoved under the couch. He scooped it up so he could jam a charger into it. After a few minutes it revived enough to show him the screen and he was relieved to see he'd texted Laine when he'd realized there was no way he'd make it in (there were also a dozen texts after that from her that he'd deal with in a minute).

Dick tucked the towel around his waist and sat on the couch, rubbing his forehead. His phone told him it was Monday. He'd felt more or less fine after getting back to the apartment Friday night (or rather, Saturday morning), though he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that the apartment was emptier than it ought to be, that something was _missing_ from it. He'd chalked it up to regular old loneliness and gone to bed.

He'd woken up Saturday with an awful headache that got progressively worse, the slightest sounds clanging in his ears, the pillow on his bed feeling like a concrete brick. His skin felt pricked all over, like the very air was made of needles. He'd texted Laine a slightly incoherent explanation and then… he'd…

Dick looked around, at a loss, and his eyes landed on a large, white paper bag on the coffee table. He'd ordered takeout? At some point? Dick peeked inside and found a few styrofoam bowls with plastic lids. An examination of one of the bowls in the bag proved it to be full of chicken soup. Behind the bag, one of the bowls (empty, thankfully) was tipped on its side, a filmy residue lining the interior and a small plastic spoon resting in it. Dick moved the bag to the fridge, a frown creasing his forehead. His phone didn't show any calls placed to a takeout place and his browser history didn't show any online order.

He couldn't remember… pretty much any of Sunday. His texts were full of Laine sending him encouraging messages and strange gifs, and then as Sunday progressed, several telling him to text or call so she knew he was alive. He sent one now that said "Alive, awake, what year is it" and got one back almost immediately saying "Good, stay away until you can prove you're not contagious."

Dick leaned back on the couch, tapping his phone against his mouth. Then he noticed his keys on the floor by the door.

"What the hell?" he wondered. He got up, scooped them off the floor, and held them in his palm for a few moments. There was something, right on the edge of memory… "I was here," Dick said to himself. "And I opened the door, and leaned against the frame." He put a hand on the frame, stopping himself from actually repeating the motions when he remembered he wasn't wearing anything but a towel. He had dropped the keys, and… his… neighbor? Had helped him back inside? His… _hot_ neighbor?

A slow grin inched its way onto Dick's face.

_I think I made a friend_ , he texted Laine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Queer Brown Voices: Personal Narratives of Latina/o LGBT Activism edited by Uriel Quesada, Letitia Gomez, and Salvador Vidal-Ortiz](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25364635-queer-brown-voices): Nonfiction anthology featuring Latina/o activists


	5. Chapter 5

"So what's his name?" Laine asked.

"Um."

"What's he look like?"

"Er. Tall?"

"Are you sure you didn't hallucinate this guy, Dick?"

He'd told Laine all about the mysterious man who'd helped him into his apartment and then apparently ordered him a week's worth of soup before vanishing into the night.

"God, I hope not," Dick said with feeling.

"Okay, so, just to be clear," Laine said, leaning on the counter. "I sent you out to go meet people and make friends and you meet one – allegedly – in the hallway of your own apartment. While you're too sick to stand."

"I _did_ go out," Dick said. "I had fun! I just— OH!" He slammed his hands on the countertop. Laine started.

"What?"

"I just remembered. You're not gonna believe this. I ran into Red Hood on the way home Friday night."

"You _what_."

"Red Hood. For real," Dick said at her expression of disbelief. "He was beating up a… a mugger maybe? Some criminal."

"Jesus Christ in a taxicab. How'd you forget _that_?" Laine demanded.

"I was really sick, okay?"

"Fucking Gotham," Laine said with a shake of her head. "This is why you don't walk alone at night!"

"It's not like he's Killer Croc," Dick said. "And if he hadn't been there, that guy he was beating up would have jumped me."

"That's _also_ why you don't walk alone at night. Next time call a Lyft, you dope! I swear, self-preservation instinct of a moth in a candle factory."

Dick rested a hand on her head and raised the other, palm out. "I solemnly swear I will call a Lyft next time instead of walking. Oh, but I've gotta go," he said, noticing the time.

"You what?"

"Shift's over. I've got places to be."

"You _what_?"

Dick winked at her and slipped out the door.

 

Jason watched Dick take a bus across town to what had to be the one gym in the city that had gymnastic equipment – plus a kickboxing class that Dick was pretty much instantly talked into joining by the staff member at the front desk. Jason rolled his eyes and turned away. Dick would be occupied for the next few hours, plus travel time waiting for buses, so this was an ideal opportunity to go collect the surveillance equipment Jason had left in his apartment.

Though, he thought as he slipped in Dick's window and began scooping up cameras, maybe he ought to leave one or two, in case of emergency. Dick would _never_ notice the tiny dot on his smoke detector, and if he did he'd think it was part of the device. Jason, of course, would never look at the feed unless he thought Dick was in trouble. He certainly didn't need to know if Dick made a habit of walking around his apartment naked. Like he had on Monday.

Jason carefully directed his brain away from that thought, made sure everything was exactly as he'd found it with the exception of a few very subtle additions, and scrambled back up the side of the Dick's building.

Only to run smack into Batman, waiting for him on the roof.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Batman rumbled at him. Guilt rushed through Jason instantly, leaving a cold, clear feeling in his head. But Batman didn't need to know that, especially since Jason was wearing the helmet.

"Notice what?" he asked, though he made sure his tone suggested that he knew exactly what and had just decided to be a brat about it. Really, he was hoping Batman just meant the cameras and not the whole ran-into-Dick-in-an-alley-while-fighting-crime thing.

Batman sighed, but it was an exasperated sigh, not an "I regret what I'm about to have to do" sigh, so that was good. Much as he hated to admit it, Jason was a little underprepared at this exact moment for a pitched battle with the Bat.

"What you did was risky and unnecessary."

"What I— what, you mean checking in to make sure his brains weren't dribbling out his ears?" Jason asked.

"I haven't abandoned him. I was aware of his status. I would have intervened."

"Right. Well. Next time I won't bother," Jason said, turning to leave.

"Wait," Batman said and Jason, cursing himself for it, did. "It was risky, but… kind." The word sounded like it had been dragged from the lair of a dragon who hoarded approval and didn't want to let this scrap of it go. Grudging didn't begin to cover it.

"I didn't do it for the kudos, old man." Figures Bats would try to praise him for something he'd only done out of a sense of guilt, anyway.

"I know. But if you want to help in the future, go through Oracle. And stop following him so closely. Now that you've interacted with him once, the possibility of you triggering a mental break has doubled."

"Yeah, yeah. Any other orders?" Jason asked, crossing his arms.

"Take this seriously," Batman snapped.

"Give me a break. We all know no one can take anything as seriously as you so why even try. Don't worry, this was a one-time thing. I won't go near your golden child again." Jason stepped off the roof and grappled away.

 

Dick went to his kickboxing classes three times a week, and when he wasn't doing that he was charming his neighbors into starting a community garden on their roof, snagging them in the hallway or even knocking on doors to infect them with his enthusiasm.

On his way home from work one afternoon, he stopped in at the corner store and interrupted the shop owner in the midst of his daily tirade against the teens who hung out in the front of the store. By the time Dick left, one of the kids had a job, another had discovered a common interest in vintage baseball cards with the owner, and Dick had dragged the other two to a library branch not a block away where they also had air conditioning and didn't care if you loitered.

The woman who was frequently seen sleeping in doorways in the neighborhood was handed a card with information about a free clinic and offered cab fare to get across town where there was a shelter that was a little nicer than most and provided employment classes. The police who regularly hassled her were smiled at politely and informed that everything was all right here, officers, thanks anyway.

Dick felt good. He felt like he could smile at people and have a reasonable expectation of them smiling back. Yes, people still snapped at each other (2A and 3B got in a fight over whether it was too late in the year to plant tomatoes just the other day) and the city was still the city – honking horns and bad news and all. But he felt good. Hopeful. Even if the only thing that had really changed was his own perspective, he felt like he was doing something right.

 

"Does he seem… better to you?" Jason mused out loud to Oracle.

"Hi, I'm Red Hood and I have a stalking problem," Oracle drawled.

"How is this any different from what you guys are doing!" Jason demanded.

"You're not in the rota," Oracle said. "I have a _schedule_ , Hood. You're not on it. Plus didn't you tell B you weren't going near him?"

"I'm not. I'm three rooftops away. Keeping my distance."

"One might suggest your sudden interest in Dick's doings is suspicious. Why _did_ you drop everything to check on him – nay, take care of him – anyway?"

 _Because your stupid rota didn't have him covered on a Friday night and he almost got jumped,_ Jason thought. The Bats only did spot checks on Dick; besides wanting to give him room to grow (and themselves room to let go), they couldn't keep him constantly under surveillance. Red Hood couldn't either, for that matter, but he did have a little more freedom what with his civilian identity being legally dead and all. Also, Bruce had told him not to, so…

"My _point_ ," Jason said, ignoring Oracle's question. "Is that he kind of seems like himself again."

"Sure. Probably just took some time to more thoroughly heal," Oracle said. "Who knows. It's not like medical journals are publishing research on this kind of thing."

Jason _hm_ 'd in agreement, but he was wondering about Dick's sudden illness. Had it really been triggered by encountering Red Hood? And did recovering from that illness have something to do with the apparent recovery of Dick's personality, as well? Jason almost told Babs about running into Dick in that alley just to get her opinion on it, but held back. No harm had come of it, after all, and while he might feel a twinge of guilt about letting Bruce think he'd taken care of Dick out of the goodness of his heart he wasn't about to fling himself on his sword over it. No, Dick was fine now, better every day, in fact, and Jason… Jason needed to let it go.

 

Dick would be the first to admit that he'd had ulterior motives in dreaming up a rooftop garden for his building. It had been two weeks since he'd been sick and he had yet to catch a glimpse of anyone who looked like they could be his mystery man. No one was quite tall enough, broad enough, no one sounded quite right. Laine thought he was building the guy up in his head to be some unattainable ideal, but Dick insisted he'd know him when he saw him. She snorted and wished him luck with his radishes.

The weather was finally breaking, heat giving way to slightly-less-heat which was enough for Back to the Grind to start piping Halloween through its sound system. Beth promised a free pumpkin spice latte to the first three people to bring in a nice, dry, crackly leaf to prove fall was here regardless of what the calendar said. Extra whipped cream if it was bright orange, yellow, or red. Dick found a good yellow one on the rooftop one day and gave it to Laine, practically shoving her across the street so Beth could inspect it for authenticity. One of the baristas gave him a thumbs-up through the window.

Despite the heat tapering off, though, people could still be assholes and somehow it was worse when you didn't have the heat to blame it on. A million little hostilities and oblique unkindnesses weighed on Dick: the parent who dragged her child away hastily when she saw Dick smile and wave at the kid through the bookshop window; the junior high student who came in one day and shyly bought a second-hand paperback only to pass by the next day with his head down, not quite hiding a black eye; the general concerns Dan shared about his clients and the difficulties they faced both from their home lives and the system; even just the woman putting up lost posters for her cat seemed like the end of the world.

He did his job and he tried not to let it all get to him despite the nagging feeling that he should be doing something, _could_ be doing something. When he went to the gym he pushed a little harder, added time and complexity to his usual routine, but still felt unfulfilled afterward. It was just an off day, he told himself. Or a couple days. A funk. He'd be out of it after a good night's sleep.

And he was. The next day he had his energy back, could smile at everyone, even the bus driver who habitually looked like he sucked on lemons for fun. Even seeing the cops called to a neighboring building on his block to sort out a domestic disturbance didn't give him anything more than a twinge of distress, though he did find his feet trying to carry him closer to the flashing lights and the yelling, audible even on the sidewalk outside. He shook his head firmly, went to his own apartment, and turned up the music.

He was good for a few more days but slowly, inexorably… it felt like the city was pressing the life out of him. Like trying to tune out the endless litany of sirens, shouted conversations, distant gunshots, and screeching tires each night was taking all of his energy and leaving him listless and distant during the day. Was it just Gotham? Had Bludhaven been better? He couldn't remember.

Where before he'd been sleeping more than usual, Dick now found he couldn't sleep at night at all. He'd lie there in bed, overheated and then chilled until the sheets were tangled around his body from all the times he'd thrown them off only to tug them back on. After three nights of this he finally got so sick of lying uselessly in bed, he quit trying and went up to the roof instead, thinking the air might help.

The lock and alarm on the roof access door had been broken since time immemorial. It was the first thing his neighbor, Karen, had told him when they met in the hall after he'd moved in: the alarm was broken and the residents of the building liked it that way, thanks. Dick could understand that. The rooftop was fairly nice, a clear, flat space with slightly taller buildings on either side giving a bit of privacy. There had been a few battered old lawn chairs up here before, and now the large garden box took up one corner.

Dick eyed it ruefully. It had been a fun project to get started, but it was running on its own now, each of the residents who joined in caring for it as they could, though it was mostly just winter prep at this point. And while it had accomplished the goal of helping him get to know his neighbors a little better it had not helped him find one neighbor in particular. Dick was starting to think Laine was right and he'd dreamed the whole thing.

He wandered to the back edge of the roof which overlooked a not-particularly-scenic alley. The gap between his building and the one on the other side of the alley was only a few yards. He found himself eyeing it and wondering if he could make the jump. His foot was on the slightly raised ledge around the roof before he realized it.

Dick paused. Then he brought his other foot up and balanced easily on the ledge. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes and thought about flying.

Then he opened his eyes and stepped back onto the roof, shaking his head. He was really losing it. He needed sleep.

 

Jason's heart was going a mile a minute and didn't steady until Dick opened the roof access door and went back downstairs. "Fuck, Dickie," he muttered. "Don't _do_ that."

"You were watching?" came Robin's voice from behind him. Jason did _not_ jump. He had known Robin was there all along, of course.

"Just passing through," Jason said. He was dressed as Red Hood, reasoning that if Dick did catch a glimpse of him it would be better if he couldn't see his face just in case he remembered seeing Jason when he'd been sick. It was perfectly reasonable for Red Hood to be lurking about on rooftops, anyway.

Not that he'd put that kind of thought into this.

"Spare me," Robin said. "Tell me instead that you've observed the same things I have."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jason said.

Robin made a frustrated noise. "The periods of melancholy are returning. The frustration, like he's constantly reaching for something he's just put down only to find it missing. It was soothed for a time, but he is worsening again."

"Aren't you supposed to have a babysitter?" Jason asked so that he wouldn't have to admit that, yes, he had noticed that.

"And didn't Father tell _you_ not to go near Grayson without informing Oracle of your movements?"

"I know this will come as a shock to you but I'm not great at following orders."

"Batgirl will be catching up with me shortly," Robin said. "She will tell me I am imagining things, and to give it time, and to let it go."

"That's good advice, short round. You gonna follow it?" Jason asked.

"I may have no choice," Robin said, kicking at the gravel on the rooftop. "You, on the other hand…"

"What?" Jason asked warily.

"You are clearly invested, for reasons I cannot fathom though your actions and body language seem to suggest you feel some sort of responsibility toward Grayson." Robin held up a hand when Jason began a protest and interrupted him. "I don't care why you're doing it, I simply care that you _are_. If you can find out what has triggered this decay, or the nature of his earlier improvement, it would be… extremely beneficial."

Jason almost felt sorry for the kid. He was desperate, and he wasn't dealing. Jason would lay odds that Batman wasn't being particularly helpful, either.

"I'm not sure exactly what you're asking me, here," he hedged. "You want me to spy on Dick—"

"—Which you are already doing—"

"—And somehow come up with a hypothesis about what's going on in his head? Kid, I couldn't have told you that _before_ a Martian went in there and scrambled everything up."

Robin huffed. "I should have known you would be useless. Away with you. Batgirl will be here any moment."

"Yeah. Nice talking to you, too," Jason muttered. But he did leave; he had no desire to have his new habit of stalking Dick Grayson reported back to the big Bat. Because as annoying as Damian was, he was right, and Jason wasn't going to leave this up to the bat-committee to deliberate over for eons while Dick got worse.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Jason didn't intend to spend any more hours sitting at café tables across from the bookstore, even though the weather was a lot nicer now. It was way too conspicuous. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to stop in for coffee before retreating to a more strategic vantage point. It was good coffee. He enjoyed it lounging on the roof of Back to the Grind watching Dick through the bookstore's picture window.

The café was only one storey and honestly the roof was stupid easy to get to, so Jason figured he was okay if anyone spotted him up here dressed as a civilian. But if he was going to keep watching Dick this closely he'd need a better cover. Maybe some more heavy-duty disguise work, break out the old make-up kit. He could be a college student studying at the café. Or maybe he should just give in and ask O to hook him up with the camera feed. Of course that would lead to a conversation about how closely he was watching Dick, and he didn't think Babs would approve of this direct defiance of Bruce's orders. Not in this case.

Well. Maybe if he told her about his run-in with Dick. About how he wasn't sure Dick's subsequent dramatic illness was a coincidence. That had turned out all right, though. In fact, Dick had come out the other side more like himself than he'd been since the whole thing had started.

Then again…

Jason peered out around the edge of the café's sign. Dick was staring off into space again. Jason hated that look. It was the same look Dick had gotten when he'd stepped onto the ledge around the roof of his apartment building. At least this time he was on the ground. He was lucky the bookshop wasn't a particularly busy place.

Jason sighed. If Dick's improvement had lasted, he would have let it go and moved on with his life. But Dick seemed to know, on some level, that something was wrong. He was going to keep reaching for something that wasn't there until he did himself a serious injury.

And what about the rest of them? Was everyone going to babysit Dick for the rest of his life? Was _he_? There had to be a better solution.

Jason leaned around to check again.

Dick was gone.

Not really a cause for concern. He'd probably gone off into the store to do… bookseller things. Jason slipped over the edge of the roof and shinnied down a drainpipe to the ground anyway, casually coming around the side of the building and crossing the street to walk past the store. He pretended to be admiring the display while he looked back into the aisles.

No sign of him.

Panic seized him by the spine and propelled him through the door. His eyes clocked other exits – two: one heading up to the rooms above the store and a fire exit at the back. Dick hadn't come out the front, Jason would have heard the bell. He headed for the back at a jog—

And practically tripped over Dick, who was crouched at the back end of a shelving unit that stood perpendicular to the window, changing out an endcap. He blinked up at Jason.

"Can I help…you?" The last word was slow to come out as Dick stood, looking at Jason with his head cocked, obviously trying to place him.

"No," Jason said hurriedly. "I was just looking for— but it's not in, so— uh, sorry," he finished lamely. Anyone would think he wasn't highly trained in investigation and covert dealings.

"We could order it for you," Dick said vaguely, still studying him even as Jason was turning to leave, forcing himself not to run. Running would be more memorable. "Hey, hang on, I swear this isn't a line but you look familiar."

If Jason thought what he'd felt before had been panic, he had been mistaken. _This_ was panic, or maybe just plain fear snaking through his brain and turning his blood to ice. He kept moving, taking long strides toward the front door.

"Oh!" said Dick behind him. "You're—"

Jason shoved through the door and bolted across the street. _Shit._

Dick watched the man leave, completely flummoxed. He had every appearance of _running away_ , acting like he didn't hear Dick at all. By the time Dick figured out why he looked familiar, the bell was clattering to stillness.

"Guess he's shy?" Dick said to the empty store, his arms still full of books. Then his mind shifted into an analytical gear he hadn't been aware he had. By the time Laine came back at the end of his shift, he had a plan.

"Can I see the security footage from this afternoon?" he asked.

"Was there an incident?" Laine replied, already going to the computer in the office to pull up the reel.

"A guy ran in, practically tripped over me, and then more or less ran back out."

"Okay," Laine said slowly. "And I'm scrolling through hours of footage for him why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure he's the soup guy."

"What what _what_!" Laine whipped around in the chair. "Your nonexistent perfect neighbor? With the thighs and the eyes and the shoulders?"

"Pretty sure. Wait, go back. There."

"Damn, kid, what'd you say to him? He looks like he saw a ghost."

The picture was pretty clear. Dick stared at it over Laine's shoulder, feeling it tickle his mind. "Okay," Dick said. "Now I just need to cross-reference it with…" he trailed off. Laine looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

"Someone's been watching too much CSI," she said. "It's a good security system, but it doesn't exactly do facial recognition. Best I can do is print you a screenshot, but unless you're planning on putting up 'wanted' posters…"

"No," Dick said, shaking his head slowly. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking. So he had proof the guy existed, and that was about it.

 _No, not it_ , said some instinct in the back of his mind. _Look closer_. The guy had burst into the shop in a hurry; Dick remembered the chaotic clang of the bell. He'd rushed to the back of the store, then seen Dick, and did a complete one-eighty. So, maybe he hadn't been expecting to see him, was surprised, and embarrassed because the last time they'd met…

Well, Dick didn't actually know what had happened the last time they'd met, did he? Oh God, it must have been bad to get that kind of reaction from someone. But that still didn't explain a man bursting into an LGBT bookstore like the world would end if he didn't get his hands on a copy of _Orlando_ that instant.

"Mystery man is still a mystery," Dick murmured. His sigh was strong enough to blow the hair off his forehead. Laine gave him a sympathetic look.

"Maybe he'll come back," she said.

"Or maybe I shouldn't obsess over a guy whose name I don't even know," Dick said with a shrug.

"That sounds like the healthy option," Laine agreed. A pause. "So you want me to print this photo?"

"…Yeah."

 

Logically, Jason knew he didn't need to bolt two blocks before slowing down; it wasn't like Dick Grayson, Bookseller was likely to keep up with him even if he had followed him out of the store, which he hadn't. But adrenaline carried him away and up, as afternoon faded to evening and the clouds grew heavier.

Jason dropped heavily to a rooftop and leaned against the HVAC unit that squatted in the corner, more out of breath than his run should have warranted. There had to be something wrong with him, just bursting in on Dick like that, but his hindbrain seemed to have categorized Dick as _vulnerable_ and he couldn't seem to help feeling protective no matter how much his forebrain insisted that _vulnerable_ and _Nightwing_ didn't go in the same sentence together.

He scrubbed a hand back through his hair and knocked his head gently against the metal behind him, closing his eyes and letting his breathing deepen. It probably wasn't as bad as he was thinking. It wasn't like—

 _Cameras_. Jason lurched forward with sudden realization. Babs had feeds in that store. She'd have seen everything. It was a miracle she wasn't already calling him.

As though summoned, his phone rang. Jason pulled it out of his pocket hesitantly. He didn't recognize the number, but that didn't mean anything when it came to Oracle. He could ignore it. And she could go to Bruce. Okay, damage control time. He answered.

"Todd. What in the nine hells was that?" demanded a voice that was decidedly _not_ Babs.

"Damian? How did you get this number?" Jason asked, nonplussed.

"You seem to be under the impression that you're good at stealth," Damian said. "Incidents like this afternoon notwithstanding."

"Listen, brat—"

"I've covered for you."

"…what?" The words just didn't track. Jason processed them once, twice, and still had no idea what Damian was saying.

An annoyed alveolar consonant clicked over the line. "Gordon gave me a line into her feed when all of this began. She did not happen to be watching at the exact moment of your madness, but I was. I replaced that portion with appropriate footage should she feel the need to check the backlog at any point, but I cannot guarantee she won't notice that something has been tampered with. She is… proficient," he said grudgingly.

"Why the hell would you do that?" Jason asked.

"Because I _assumed_ you had discovered something, per our conversation last night. Why else would you do something so foolish?"

"Keep your nose out of it, demon bat," Jason snapped, and hung up. The phone immediately rang again and Jason turned it off. Dick was probably just fine, otherwise Damian would have shown up with a sword rather than a phone call. As long as he stayed that way, Jason didn't have to deal with any helicoptering bats. What he needed now was a good old-fashioned brawl without any bat-drama.

He eyed the skyline to get his bearings and angled out over the city, heading for his nearest supply cache to get ready for the night.

 

Jason had bolt-holes all over the city: converted warehouses, hole-in-the-wall apartments, lightless subbasements, even a little house in the suburbs for when he was really desperate. His current favorite, though, was a cozy little attic that didn't exist in a building that had once been the elaborate townhome of some wealthy newspaper magnate. It had been reincarnated several times over the decades before settling (for now) into its modern form: trendy condos for the young, jetsetting crowd that needed to live right in the heart of downtown.

In all the remodelings over the building's lifetime, the contractors had lost a room. There was a small space that had just ended up walled off from the rest, but it was still accessible if you knew where to look (and had some specialized tools).

Jason would be the first to argue that the photogenic main drag of Gotham did not come anywhere near constituting the _heart_ of the city, but being near the geographic center of Gotham did feel good, somehow. Like he was connected. And a central location was frequently convenient.

Even if actually getting to the space was anything but. It involved a hidden access panel in an electrical maintenance tunnel, a walled-off servants' stair, several security measures, and a five-flight climb that had to be made very, very quietly as only a few layers of plaster and insulation separated the forgotten space from the modern areas of the building.

Once he got to the top, though, and through the little undersized door that was his last line of security, he could breathe easy. The building now had a few layers of ductwork and updated HVAC paraphernalia between him and the highest condo, so he didn't have to worry about making noise, and several layers of solid brick around him was reassuring in a primal sort of way even if it wreaked havoc on cell phone signal.

The tops of two arched windows, long since bricked over, had once overlooked the street. Jason had spent a few weeks carefully and quietly unbricking one of them in the dead of night and converting it to a sort of trap door that still _looked_ bricked over to be used in case of emergencies.

Jason had had a relaxing night of threatening pimps, surprising lowlifes, and, oddly, helping an old man carry his shopping up to his apartment. (The guy hadn't been able to see very well and Jason was pretty sure he'd mistaken Red Hood for a neighbor or something, but what was Jason going to do, refuse to help him move his haul of kitty litter up the stairs? The man had given him a dollar and thanked him for his help, though he also suggested Jason take off his "motorcycle helmet" next time because it was rude to wear headgear indoors.)

Jason was feeling pleasantly productive and just the right amount of worn-out and the attic spot was his favorite place to sleep so he'd made the hike across town and the climb. Now he was happily ditching his equipment in a chest locker, rinsing off in the tiny stall shower (plumbing was surprisingly easy to re-route, he'd found), and stretching out on the mattress that sat directly on the floor, wedged under a steep slant of the ceiling, to rest.

He closed his eyes and gave his muscles permission to relax, consciously letting his face go slack, unbunching his shoulders, and taking a deep breath to let out slowly. Traffic was a distant hum, faint as the whir of fans pushing air through vents beneath him. He was warm, which was comforting even when this little attic space got stifling in the dead of summer; he knew it was better than the cold.

He shifted onto his side, back to the wall. He bunched up a blanket and put it behind him so that he could _feel_ something there. He flipped his pillow over.

He turned onto his stomach, arms shoved under the pillow.

He rolled onto his back and sighed.

He couldn't sleep.

Jason stared at the ceiling for a few moments longer before admitting defeat and feeling around the edge of the mattress for the tablet he kept handy for exactly these occasions. He could review case files until he zoned out, or maybe make a few overtures at hacking the Batcomputer just to piss Tim off, that was always fun.

But what he ended up doing was pulling up the feed from Dick's apartment. He'd told himself he was done worrying about Dick for today, maybe for a few days. Guy had a whole flock of Bats dancing attendance on him (so what _else_ was new); he'd be fine even if Jason's ill-advised breach of the bookstore had knocked something loose in that pretty head of his. And if he wasn't fine, what could Jason do about it? Nothing. So he was done worrying about it.

Except here was his camera feed, showing a darkened room in grainy night-vision. Dick was curled on his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest, peacefully asleep. Jason felt a pang of what he was pretty sure was jealousy. Then he had a horrible thought and zoomed in as much as the tiny camera would allow.

It was enough to mark the steady rise and fall of Dick's chest. Jason breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Then he noticed something else – a slightly crumpled paper resting under Dick's hand, as though he'd been holding it when he fell asleep. It was a picture, printed on regular computer paper, but that was all Jason could really tell on equipment like this. He fiddled with the light and contrast levels a little and thought the picture might be the front of the book store, but why Dick would be cuddling a print-out of that, Jason did not know.

He flipped through the other two cameras (okay, so he'd left more than one. What was the point of having any if you didn't cover all angles?) just to ease his paranoia, then back to the bedroom. Dick hadn't moved. That was a change from previous nights Jason had peeked in. A good change.

Unconsciously, he matched his breathing to Dick's. His eyes finally felt ready to close, so he turned onto his side and let the tablet fall to the mattress, nearby just in case. One arm went under his pillow as he drifted off. His other hand curled toward his chest, but brushed against the dark screen on the way. His fingers rested there and his body finally stilled into slumber.

 

The following night found Robin at the corner of a warehouse roof near the docks, waiting for Batman. He'd finished canvassing his sector before Batman had finished his own, and that made him edgy. Either he was faster than Batman, he was less thorough than Batman, Batman had given him a smaller section to cover, or Batman had run into trouble. The only option he really liked was the first one but he was self-aware enough to admit (privately) that it was unlikely to be true on its own.

Then he felt Batman looming behind him and banished his concerns. He'd only been waiting half a minute. Acceptable.

"Three known gang members at dock eight," Robin said without being prompted. "But they are simply… socializing. There is no meet up, no drop, no illegal activity that I could discern."

"We'll send them on their way," Batman said.

Robin's frown became more of an active thing than his usual scowl. "Why do we waste our time on these nobodies?" It had been fun, at first. He and Batman had spent several nights when there was no supervillain to foil scouring the streets and putting the fear of God into various shady characters "just to let them know we're watching," as Batman had said.

Swooping over them and seeing them scurry to their holes at the shadow of the Bat had been enjoyable, as had terrorizing the more stubborn ones. But Robin quickly realized that their targets weren't actively engaged in anything dangerous and… most of them skewed young. Junior members of the large organizations, teens who joined the neighborhood gang as a means of protection, anyone with the faintest whiff of potential crime about them who happened to be in a non-public area at night.

"It's not a waste of time," Batman answered, and Robin could tell he thought that was a _sufficient_ answer, too. Perhaps for a foot soldier. But Robin was a partner.

"What is it then?"

"It's…" Batman trailed off.

"You have that expression on your face again," Robin said with a huff.

"You can't _see_ my face."

" _Tch._ You know what I mean. You are looking at me as though you do not know whether to tell me the truth. You are looking at me like I am your _son_ and not Robin when they are the same thing!" He felt his temper fraying and reined it in, knowing that blowing up would only make Batman view him as _more_ of a child.

"Hm," Batman said. He crouched on the roof and looked out over the warren of storage containers, warehouses, and alleyways that made up the docks. "We're scaring these people into thinking twice before they go out at night. Before they do something that might get the police involved."

Robin considered. The ethically dubious nature of preemptive strikes was somewhat outside of Batman's typical method of operation, at least at this low level, so there must be something— then it clicked. "You are protecting them. From the police."

"Gotham PD's recent… enthusiasm… has had a disproportionate effect on the young and the—" He glanced at Robin. "Not white."

Robin nodded, then paused. "Are you projecting some insecurity about _my_ safety onto these callow miscreants?" he bristled.

Batman sighed. "I know you can take care of yourself."

Robin was well aware that _knowing_ this did not prevent worry. "You are letting emotion cloud your thinking, your strategy," he scoffed.

"It isn't emotion. It's reasonable concern," Batman said, not rising to Robin's temper. Robin just rolled his eyes and brushed the toes of his boots against the edge of the roof. Concern was just another word for _fear_ and he had no time for that.

"If you insist. Are we terrorizing these children or not?"

Batman smiled wryly and gestured for Robin to lead the way.

 

They were looping back toward home when Robin's com chimed in his ear. A quick glance at Batman told him whoever it was wasn't trying to contact them both. He opened the line.

"Demon brat. You alone?"

Hood. Wonderful. Robin's immediate reaction was to shout at him for _hanging up_ on him the previous day. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd gone rampaging into the bookstore for no apparent reason and Robin had been plotting his demise the entire time.

A quick tap answered _No_.

"Ugh, fine. Slip your minders as soon as you can. Meet me at Dick's."

Robin's eyebrows went up under the mask but he made no move to confirm and Hood closed the connection. _Slip your minders_ , he'd said, as though it were that simple. Ordinarily, Robin liked his odds, but with all the bats hyper-alert for him to run off to tamper with Grayson, plus Batman's newfound worry over his well-being thanks to Gotham's incompetent police force, such a task might actually test his skill.

Well. He'd just have to get creative.

 

Red Hood paced the roof of the building across the street from Dick's apartment. He wanted to run his hands through his hair, but he had the helmet on and given his luck recently, this close to Dick… he was leaving it on. Then again, it almost seemed that that luck might turn out to be _good_. Jason could hardly bring himself to hope, but he wasn't the only one who'd managed to sleep through the night last night. Dick had as well, and today he'd been downright chipper, full of that old energy that screamed _Dick_ , not the listless lump he'd been turning into.

And then Jason had caught a closer look at the paper Dick had fallen asleep holding last night. Dick had brought it out to examine while waiting for a bus. It was a print-out from a security camera, but it was surprisingly good quality. Jason had had no trouble at all recognizing himself in that photo. And Dick was _studying_ it, had pulled it out several times over the course of the day to peer at it with a distant look on his face.

It would have been creepy if Jason didn't have a very good idea of exactly which wheels in Dick's head were turning. He'd made a career of watching Dick Grayson and he knew how stubborn the guy could be. He was not going to let this go.

Red Hood whirled at the deliberate footfall on the roof behind him, knowing on one level that it was Robin but on another that it was definitely some enemy trying to get the drop on him. Robin scowled at him – or more specifically, at the hand that had drifted toward his thigh holster.

"This had better be good," Robin said. "If I am discovered missing I’ll never be able to use that escape method again."

"I hope it wasn't something as lame as stuffing pillows under your blankets, because that didn't even work back in Dick's day."

Robin sniffed haughtily. "Hardly." Red Hood waited expectantly and Robin rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm not going to tell _you_ , am I? Now out with it. Where is Grayson?"

"Sleeping," Red Hood said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Peacefully. For the second night in a row."

"Good. If some harm had befallen him because of your actions—"

"Save it, shrimp. It's the opposite." Jason could feel Robin's attention on him sharpen, like a current had just ionized the air between them.

"Explain."

Jason hesitated. This was the moment of truth. He knew he needed Robin (or at least, needed one other person in on this in case it all went horribly wrong, and Robin was the best bet), but for that to happen he'd have to tell him everything. Well… it wasn't like the kid could hate him any more than he already did. There _was_ a chance he'd run straight to Batman and tell him what Jason had done, and that would certainly be bad, but Jason had always known the truce couldn't last.

 _And is it worth breaking for_ _Dick?_ a stray thought whispered. _He'd do it for me,_ another thought answered. That, and how sweet would it be to hold this over Bruce's head if it all worked out by some miracle?

"So Dick had a run-in with Red Hood a few weeks ago," Jason said. It would be lying to say he wasn't at least a little delighted by the sputtering, choking noises Robin was making. "Untwist your panties, bird brat, he's fine. Which is sort of the point."

Jason explained his encounter with Dick, putting his subsequent illness and recovery – on many levels – in a new perspective. And then he told Robin about Dick's fixation on that picture, how he was sure Dick's brain was trying to put things together, and how he seemed _better_ for it.

"Are you suggesting that we do exactly what my father and the Martian instructed us _not_ to do?" Robin asked. His voice was neutral so Jason couldn't tell whether he was on board or had recorded the entire conversation and was planning to use it to get Jason kicked out of Gotham for good.

"No," Jason said. "I'm suggesting we ease him into it. Controlled exposure. Slowly picking at the edges of the scab instead of ripping the band-aid off and tearing the stitches."

"That was an impressive mixing of metaphors," Robin said. "But I think I take your meaning, clumsy though you are. Controlled exposure," he mused. "To you?"

"I doubt any of the others would be down for this experiment," Jason said. "And doesn't this version of Dick already know you anyway?"

"He knows _of_ me. According to the absurd backstory my father and the Martian concocted, Dick left the manor at eighteen after being largely ignored for nine years, and then was further ignored with each of my father's subsequent adoptions. Father made himself quite the cold, distant villain in this piece. As far as the man sleeping in that apartment is concerned, he has no family."

Jason was glad he was wearing the helmet because, laid out like that, it was kind of horrifying. They really had isolated Dick _thoroughly_.

"I was not consulted," Robin added, needlessly.

"Okay," Jason said. "Then, yeah. It'll have to be me for the most part. He's already latched on at some level, and he'd probably recognize Damian Wayne. Robin could maybe get away with showing up once or twice though." He pretended he didn't see the raw need flash across Damian's face before Robin got his features under control.

"I am also too closely watched," Robin said. "They think I might let my… attachment to Grayson put him in danger." Robin's mouth made a thin line. "I hope that is not what I am doing right now."

"We'll abort at the first sign of danger," Jason reassured him. "And I'll approach him as a civilian. I think the Red Hood encounter was too dramatic, what with how sick he got after. I'll need you to be my eyes, run interference on O if necessary. We act as failsafes for each other. If _either_ of us thinks something's off, the other promises to drop it and back off, got it?"

Robin eyed him. " _I_ can agree to that. But can you?"

"Excuse me? I'm the one who came up with it."

"I will be blunt. I am more invested in Grayson's return to normalcy than you are. Your motivations are unclear, but I can assume you have some desire to show up my father, to prove that his way was incorrect." Robin crossed his arms. "You are more motivated to prove yourself right than to protect Grayson's health."

"Geez, kid, I don't want him comatose," Jason protested. "But if you think something's wrong and I don't back off you can just call the Bats on me. I'll be counting on you to keep them off my back."

Robin considered for a few moments, then nodded decisively. He stuck out his hand. "Partners, then."

Red Hood stared down at the small hand, bemused. "Guess so," he said, taking it and giving a firmer shake than was probably necessary. He broke his grip before Robin could judo flip him. "Partners."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Orlando by Virginia Woolf](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18839.Orlando): Speculative historical fiction in which the main character changes sexes midway through and lives for centuries. It challenged the time period's ideas of gender and sexuality. Woolf wrote it for her lover, Vita Sackville-West. (While considered a classic and progressive in many ways, heads up for disappointingly period-typical racism here.)


	7. Chapter 7

"You're late," Laine said when Dick walked in for his Wednesday afternoon shift. She didn't sound mad. She sounded surprised.

"Sorry, got held up at the gym and kind of thought you'd appreciate me stopping to shower."

"I definitely do," Laine assured him. "You seem chipper today."

"I volunteered to help out with the women's self-defense class my kickboxing instructor teaches," Dick said. "I spent the last hour getting thrown around by women. I have no regrets."

Laine just shook her head, handed him the new endcaps and arrivals list, and left him to his shift. Dick cleared the task within an hour and then it was just desk duty until seven that night.

Laine encouraged him to read while on desk, but lately Dick had just been… thinking. His hand drifted to his pocket where he kept the much-creased, worn print-out from the security feed. It had been almost a week ago now, but he still felt what he'd started describing to himself as "brain pop rocks" when he looked at it. It was like there was something on the tip of his tongue that he'd be able to articulate in just a moment.

The moment never came, or at least, it hadn't so far.

The door jangled just before Dick had been about to tug the picture out again, and he looked up, smile in place. Then he blinked.

"You!" he said.

The mystery man looked nervous, hovering just inside the doorway and eyeing Dick like he expected him to vault over the counter and attack him.

"Don't run away," Dick said hurriedly. "I have to apologize!"

The man made a furtive look over his shoulder like he was expecting to find someone else there but knew that was silly since the closed door was at his back. "To me?" he asked.

"I don't really remember what happened that night you—" _saved me_ "—helped me out. But the way you reacted last time, I figure it was pretty bad, so… sorry?" Dick said. He winced internally. As far as flirting went this was about two counties over from his best work.

"Oh," the guy said. "No, no. I was just— er, remembered something I had to do, that's all."

Dick raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Look, maybe we should start over," the guy suggested. He came closer and held out a hand (though not before appearing to think the gesture over thoroughly). "I'm Todd."

Dick shook his hand. "Dick," he said. "I mean, that's me. My name. Not, I'm not calling you a— uh. Hi."

The guy had a gorgeous smile, and it was a fun, friendly kind of smile, not a mocking or incredulous one like some people got when he told them his name. Dick felt himself smiling back and hoped it didn't look as doofy as it felt.

"So, are you looking for a book?" Dick asked, suddenly aware again that he was working and perhaps Todd had not come in here to be clumsily flirted with.

"Oh, I guess I was," Todd said. "But I don't know what. I just need something to read. Can you make a recommendation?"

How _different_ he was to that asshole who had been in weeks and weeks ago, more interested in walking out with Dick than with a book. Dick briefly considered it was just because he found Todd more attractive than that other guy, but no, Todd's approach – if it even _was_ an approach, Dick had to remind himself – was nothing but respectful, and he'd said nothing to make Dick uncomfortable.

"I can try," Dick said. "Actually, this is going to sound strange, but do you like historical fiction?"

Todd's eyebrows went up slightly. "How'd you guess?" he asked. He seemed to be watching Dick very closely. Dick willed himself not to blush, but wasn't sure if he was successful.

"Just, good at people, I guess," he said with a shrug. "But here." He pulled out _The Magicians and Mrs. Quent_ from under the counter.

Earlier that week, sick of his pining and musing about what kind of books Mystery Man would like, Laine had presented him with a stack of historical fiction (Dick had insisted that he had a _feeling_ about the genre, strong enough that he thought maybe the guy might have mentioned it during those hours Dick couldn't remember) and told him to pick one out that he thought Mystery Man would like. Her point had been to illustrate how Dick couldn't possibly pick a book because he knew nothing about this guy and should maybe stop obsessing over him.

Dick had looked at the stack of books carefully. _The Whale_ by Mark Beauregard, _The Master_ by Colm Tóibín, _Dancer from the Dance_ by Andrew Holleran, and _The Magicians and Mrs. Quent_ by Galen Beckett. Dick had picked up each of them and thumbed through them feeling a little sour because it seemed Laine had a point – he hadn't a clue whether one would be better than the others.

But then he'd read the back of _The Magicians and Mrs. Quent_ and said, decisively, that this was the one. Laine had given him a hard look and asked him why. He'd been forced to admit he didn't know. She'd gone on to say that this book wasn't one of her favorites, that the representation that earned it a slot on the shelves was staggeringly thin compared to most of the books they carried, and that it was, moreover, an incredibly niche genre: a mashup of fantasy, historical fiction, retellings of classics, and romance of manners.

Dick had shrugged and tucked it under the counter just in case and Laine had stalked off muttering about missed points.

Now Todd turned the book over in his hands, reading the back quickly. He looked back up at Dick, head slightly cocked. "Why this one?"

"Something about it reminded me of you," Dick said, more thoughtfully than he'd intended. "But it's just a guess, you don't have to get it if it sounds awful."

"No," Todd said, his voice slow and low. "I'll take it."

"Oh. Okay," Dick said, taking it back from him to ring it up. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me know how you like it?"

Todd's smile was back. "Sure. Give me a couple days."

Dick eyed the book's girth. "Fast reader. Would Saturday be too soon?"

"I can do that. Maybe somewhere that's not where you work? Coffee?" Todd suggested.

Dick felt his doofy grin returning. "Yes. Definitely. Not across the street though, they're all hopeless gossips."

"That's fine, I know a place. Here." Todd reached over and grabbed a scrap of paper from Dick's side of the desk. He scrawled what was presumably the name of a coffee place underneath it and the intersection it was on. Then, with only the barest pause, a phone number underneath that. "That's mine. In case you need to cancel or something."

 _Nothing short of an apocalypse would keep me away_. "Great. I'll see you Saturday then."

Dick waited until the echo of the bell faded after Todd's departure before letting himself grin as broadly as he wanted. He sent Laine a text that consisted mainly of exclamation points, then put Todd's number into his phone. He tucked the paper he'd written on in the pocket with the security camera print out and leaned against the counter to just enjoy the pop rocks fizzing away in his head.

 

Jason gave Damian the all-clear that he could put the cameras back to normal the minute he was out of the shop. With any luck, that would be the last time they had to conduct any of this business in the heavily-surveiled bookstore.

Dick had made that astonishingly easy. It had been like working with Nightwing sometimes was, when Dick was willing to forget his hang-up with Jason's methods and Jason was willing to forget that Dick was a sanctimonious bastard: fluid, both of them anticipating the other, moving together to get the job done.

Clearly, Dick was starving for contact, his mind reaching desperately to repair connections it sensed were missing. He must know on some level that he and Jason had some kind of history; why else would he have been so eager to talk about a book he hadn't even read with a total stranger during his time off?

And then there was the book itself. " _Inspired by Pride and Prejudice_ " was blazoned across the back. Had Jason ever mentioned he liked Jane Austen to Dick? He couldn't remember. He didn't _think_ he had. But it was an odd coincidence. Synapses were definitely firing somewhere in Dick's brain; they just needed a little help making connections. _Slowly_ , he reminded himself. _Carefully_.

He'd watch Dick over the next few days. If he seemed at all adversely affected by their brief chat today, then "Todd" was going to have a sudden unavoidable conflict before Saturday. But Jason hoped that wouldn't be the case.

* * *

Dick seemed fine, with no change for the worse or for the better, and so on Saturday, Jason got to the coffee shop early and made sure to get a table away from the window and therefore out of view of any street cameras. The interior security cameras, he happened to know, were not connected to the internet but hardwired to an ancient computer in the manager's office. Even if O digitally followed Dick all the way here for some reason, she couldn't spy on the inside unless she'd been here in person and left a bug on the PC, which was so old it probably couldn't _support_ a bug.

He was being paranoid, he knew. The Bats weren't keeping that close an eye on Dick, since he wasn't in danger from anyone but them. Just the periodic check-ins and fly-bys. Damian was backing him up on any street cameras just in case. But that wasn't the only reason Jason had chosen this café. He knew for a fact Nightwing had stopped in here a few times after a long patrol. The owners were friendly and liked having a vigilante check in once in a while, and Nightwing might claim he just needed the caffeine fix but any street cart could give him a cup of coffee; none of them could provide raspberry cream cheese muffins.

So Jason watched carefully when Dick entered, measuring his reaction. There wasn't much of one. The place was really small, the room longer than it was wide, stretching back into the building. The walls were pitted plaster, the tables more often than not wobbly, and the lighting on the warmer end of the spectrum. Dick looked around quickly, taking the room in at a glance, and smiled when he spotted Jason. Seeing that he already had a drink, Dick ordered his own at the counter before joining him.

"I like this place," Dick said, sliding into the chair across from him.

"Yeah?" Jason said. _Because you remember it?_

"It's cozy. And they seem friendly."

"They are," Jason said.

"So did you finish it?" Dick asked.

Jason gave a little laugh. Yes, he'd finished the book, and he had no problem telling Dick exactly what he thought about it because that book had been _bizarre_. For all that he had no interest in the storyline, Dick was an attentive audience to Jason's review. His attention egged Jason on and for a while he forgot he was supposed to be subtly leading Dick's mind in more nostalgic directions.

"That was great," Dick enthused when Jason had finally finished deconstructing the plot. "You should have a YouTube series or something." Jason snorted. "No, I'm serious," Dick said. "Todd's Tales. Or… something. Hm."

"What?"

"It's just, you don't look like a Todd, exactly."

"Oh? What do I look like?" Jason asked.

Dick shrugged. "I dunno. Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. So, um, what do you do for a living when you're not finishing off five hundred page books in a few days?"

"I'm a business consultant," Jason said. "Trust me, it's boring. But I travel a lot and that's worth it." There. Groundwork laid for any future disappearances that had to be made. He'd invent a dangerous hobby if he happened to sustain any obvious injuries over the course of this project.

Dick smiled at that and told Jason about some of the places he'd seen as a child traveling with Haly's. Jason hadn't known even half of it, and he was suddenly deeply glad that J'onn hadn't had to touch any of Dick's pre-Robin memories.

They talked for a long while, long enough for both of them to order another drink and even then the last dregs of coffee sat and dried into brown rings in the bottoms of the cups.

"I meant to ask you," Dick said eventually. "Are you really one of my neighbors, or did I hallucinate that the night I was sick?"

"I'm not," Jason said, though he didn't comment on the fact that Dick hadn't imagined him saying he was. "I was dropping something off for a friend of a friend. First time I'd ever been in the building."

"Lucky me," Dick said with a smile Jason wasn't sure how to interpret. "I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?"

"You dropped your keys, fell into my arms, insisted you were fine and had to go grocery shopping, then passed out on the couch. So no, not too bad," Jason said. "I gave you some Tylenol, ordered you some soup, and went on my way."

"Well, thank you. Again. I promise I don't normally go around falling into strange men's arms."

"Sure," Jason said, privately thinking that between being beaten and/or drugged on a semi-regular basis, leaping between buildings, and swinging from grapple lines, it had happened a lot more often than Dick remembered. "You been okay since then?"

"Oh, yeah. It was just some weird bug. Actually I've felt amazing since then, mostly. Maybe it was the soup."

Even Jason had to admit that Dick's smile was charming.

Eventually, Jason knew he had to wrap things up. He was worried about too much exposure too quickly. He had let Dick guide the conversation this time, not pushing too much, but it was easy to get caught up in Dick's enthusiasm. Briefly Jason wondered if this was what it would have been like – what _they_ would have been like – if everything hadn't gone so wrong; if Jason Todd's life minus one deranged clown, one crowbar, and one explosion might add up to sitting with the guy he'd looked up to so long ago, talking like equals, and enjoying each others' company.

That was how he knew it was time to go.

"How are you getting home?" Jason asked as they were about to part ways in front of the shop.

"Bus," Dick said, gesturing in the general direction. Jason frowned. It was late, and dark, and the bus stop nearest Dick's apartment was still a few blocks away from it.

"I brought my bike," Jason said before he could think too hard about it. "You'd fit on the back. If you want a ride."

Dick's blossoming grin was answer enough.

 

Dick had had to have a _very_ stern talk with himself on the back of Todd's bike to avoid inviting him upstairs after their coffee date. All the signals he was getting from Todd said he was a slow mover, and that was fine. Dick didn't want to scare him away. Todd had pulled the bike up to the curb in front of Dick's apartment but remained straddling it as Dick hopped off. Dick had considered a peck on the cheek as thanks, but Todd was wearing the kind of helmet that covered his whole face and he hadn't taken it off, just gave Dick a small wave before zipping off into the night.

Dick couldn't decide if he really liked motorcycles, or if he really liked the way Todd's body felt between his arms as Dick hung on to him while riding one. Possibly it was both.

Probably it was both.

Now he was sprawled cross-wise across his bed, a damp cloth over his eyes, waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in. He'd had a dull headache for the past two days, but there was no way he'd been going to let it interfere with tonight. Now that the night was over, though, he could admit that sitting in the dark with a cold washcloth was exactly what he needed.

He fell asleep like that. The headache was still there the following morning, but he thought it might be a little better. He went to work but skipped the gym, figuring he deserved a night in. But once he got back to his apartment he felt restless and twitchy, ready to climb the walls.

This was exactly why he had a job in the first place. He had a trust fund from Bruce that could easily keep him in this apartment for the rest of his life, and he had no compunctions about accepting it from a guy who'd basically used him as a PR stunt and a tax write-off. But he would go completely bonkers if he didn't feel like he was doing something productive on a regular basis. He'd gotten pretty lucky with Laine and her bookshop, he thought.

He managed to cook actual food for dinner, which was good and distracting, but once he'd eaten and cleaned up, his nice, relaxing evening in front of Netflix was starting to feel like a prison.

Also Todd hadn't texted or called or anything.

Dick left his apartment and headed upward. On the roof, he found two of his neighbors doing… something… in the garden.

"Getting ready for winter," Erika explained. "Turns out planting things that late in the summer isn't exactly productive."

"But we'll be ready for next year," said Hannah. "Are you here to help?"

"Sure," Dick said. Erika lived directly next door to him. She was a good neighbor, though as a registered nurse she was rarely actually home. He didn't know where she got the energy to also do things like garden.

Hannah lived on another floor somewhere. She had two Siamese cats and worked as a mechanic during the day and as a bartender at night. Dick had known none of this before the garden, and in a way he owed his speaking terms with his neighbors to Todd. Who he wasn't obsessing over.

"What do we do?" Dick asked. All of them were pretty new to the whole gardening thing. Luckily, Erika had Googled how to winter-ready a garden so they weren't flying completely blind. They pulled up what plants they had to and put down a layer of mulch.

"We should get like, a length of burlap or something, I think," Hannah said, scrolling through her phone and squinting at a gardening blog.

"Where do you even get burlap?" Dick wondered.

"Hardware store? Garden center? Let one of the others figure it out?" Erika suggested, standing and putting her hands at the small of her back to stretch it out. "I'm beat."

"Yeah, let's call it a night. I've got work in the morning," Hannah agreed. "Coming down, Dick?"

"Nah, I'll stay up a while longer. It's nice out."

The two women left and Dick wandered over to one of the old lawn chairs that had somehow not been stolen or blown off the roof. He sat and pulled out his phone and opened his conversation with Todd. They'd texted a few times – neither of them had specified a time to meet yesterday, so Dick had asked – but that was all. Dick's thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

_I had a great time—_

No. Too trite.

_It was great talking to—_

No, that sounded like an email to an old aunt you saw once a year on your birthday and had to thank for coming. Not that he would know about having old aunts.

_I'm lonely come rescue me._

Definitely not. He deleted it hastily before he could accidentally hit send.

_We should meet up again._

Hm. Good enough. Confident. To-the-point. He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

 

Handling random disturbances of the peace _so_ wasn't Red Hood's usual gig. He tended to focus on the drug trade, on the organized activity in the Narrows and Crime Alley, on the dirtiest corners Gotham had to offer and let the jewelers and the bankers and the museums fend for themselves (or, more accurately, be fended for by some other Bat). But the guy he was following was pretty hard to ignore as he bolted down the street shouting.

He was clearly in need of professional help, and not Arkham's fucked up version of it, either. Just the normal kind of help that should be a lot easier to get than it actually was – which then resulted in people pushed past their limit sprinting down a busy street punching cell phones out of other peoples' hands while howling about _radio waves_ and _brain worms_.

He wasn't actually hurting anyone, except for the financial hit some of them would take having to replace cracked screens when their phones struck the pavement. And of course when people realized what was happening _more_ of them pulled out their phones and started recording it.

Yeah, okay, that was enough. Red Hood swooped down from the roof where he'd been tracking the guy's progress from above, snatched him around the waist, and then quickly reversed the grapple to extricate him from the crowd.

He dropped the guy on the roof in front of him. "Hey, calm down, man," he said. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?" It occurred to Jason that it might actually be drug related rather than a mental break down, and if there was a bad batch of some designer drug out there making the rounds he should know about it.

The man had landed hard on his ass and stared up at Red Hood. He was dressed in a rumpled suit, tie hanging loose around his neck. "A helmet," he said. "That's a good idea. Signal blocking?"

"Trade secret," Red Hood said. "Look, you need help? You take something? Drugs, meds?"

The man shook his head, bewildered. "You can't feel it? All the phones, thousands of them. They're so… noisy."

Well, that sounded like an extreme case of modern day gadget anxiety. "All right, look buddy, I get it but you can't go around messing with other people like that. You gotta talk to someone about this shit, you know? Get to a clinic or something."

The man nodded slowly. "I should. I'm sorry. It was too much, I just—"

That was when the burner phone in Jason's pocket vibrated. He had it on silent, of course, but the vibration was enough. The guy's eyes widened and he lunged at Red Hood from where he was sitting. It was clumsy and slow and Jason caught his arm easily and twisted so he was holding it behind the man's back. "Look, maybe the headgear didn't give it away, but I'm not really someone you want to mess with, got it?" he growled.

"Turn them off," the man insisted. "Turn them all off!"

Jason sighed. He was _not_ equipped to handle this. He considered zip tying the guy and leaving him for the police – surely they'd been called after the ruckus on the street below – but that really wasn't going to help this guy. "I'm going to let you go," Jason said. "And then I am going to turn my phone off. Okay?"

The man nodded. Jason released his grip slowly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. The man tensed then visibly relaxed when the phone powered off. Then he started shaking, sat down on the roof hard, and began to sob.

 

Jason ended up escorting the man to Leslie Thompkins' clinic because he couldn't think of anything else to do. It was way out of his way and wouldn't do the Red Hood any favors reputation-wise – except with Leslie, which in Jason's book counted for enough.

"Looks like a bad case of anxiety," Leslie said when the man was tucked away in an exam room. "We'll set him up with a counselor. Thank you for bringing him all this way."

"I didn't know what else to do with him. I prefer problems you can shoot," Jason said, arms crossed. He was standing in the waiting room, helmet still firmly in place. Leslie scowled at him.

"I'd appreciate you keeping the shooting to a minimum, Mr. _Hood_. I have all the work I can handle here as it is."

"Anything for you, Doc," Jason said easily.

"Yeah, right," Leslie replied. "Okay, before you go – how's Dick?"

Jason's shoulders bunched. He imagined he could feel his phone burning a hole through his pocket and several layers of armor. "How should I know?"

"Hpmh. I had assumed you would be helping look out for him."

"I don't do group work."

"Well. Tell Batman that a status update once in a while would be appreciated – and _not_ just when he's stumbling in here bleeding out from a dozen wounds," she said tartly.

"Doc, if I had that much pull with Bats, I'd— well, I don't know what, because it's never happened."

Leslie just smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. "Okay, kid. Get going, now. You're scaring away my patients."

 

Red Hood trawled the neighborhood for a while in ever widening circles, looking for trouble but finding very little. He didn't have any particularly urgent irons in the fire; he'd been doing spot-cleaning since getting back into town and hadn't started building any more complex cases other than this thing he was attempting with Dick.

He paused on a quiet ledge near a gargoyle and pulled off the helmet to get some fresh air. This high up it almost _was_ fresh, too. Dick's text waited for him and he read it with a frown. They _should_ meet again, but not this soon.

 _Out of town,_ Jason replied. _Text you when I get back?_

Dick responded with a smiley and that was that. Jason exhaled deeply and leaned against the gargoyle. "What do you think?" he asked it. "Give it a week? Two?" The gargoyle responded with stony silence. "Yeah, you're right. Watch and see. Guess I better get on that, then." He gave the gargoyle a pat and dropped off the roof.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Magicians and Mrs. Quent by Galen Beckett](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2582799-the-magicians-and-mrs-quent): Fantasy romance of manners based (sort of, loosely) on Pride and Prejudice. MLM characters (though this doesn't become pronounced until book 2) 
> 
> [The Whale: A Love Story by Mark Beauregard](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27209385-the-whale): Historical fiction; Herman Melville/Nathanial Hawthorne 
> 
> [The Master by Colm Tóibín](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43691.The_Master): Historical fiction feat. Henry James (who was closeted in life and whose sexuality was, until relatively recently, kept a secret by his relatives through the selective editing of his surviving documents) 
> 
> [Dancer from the Dance by Andrew Holleran](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/232431.Dancer_from_the_Dance): Historical fiction. A young man searches for love in 1970s New York's nascent gay community.


	8. Chapter 8

"Did you start a bookstagram account or something?" Laine asked, coming up behind Dick in the sci-fi section. He was taking a picture of _The Left Hand of Darkness_.

"Nah, this is for Todd. Looks like something he'd like."

"Ah ha, not historical fiction after all, I see."

"People can like more than one genre, boss. You've read this entire store," Dick pointed out.

"You're just a sore loser."

Dick stuck his tongue out at her as she walked back up to the front to attend to the jangling of the bell. He sent the picture to Todd and put his phone away.

Todd was still traveling, had been since their date five days ago, but he seemed amenable to another date whenever he got back and the thought gave Dick a pleasant, floaty feeling whenever he considered it.

Dick wondered briefly if he was rebounding, if there was something wrong with him for falling this quickly for someone he barely knew. Then he decided not to worry about it; it would work out or it wouldn't and for now, being with Todd felt… _good_. In a way he couldn't quite put his finger on, and in a way he certainly didn't remember ever feeling in his previous relationship.

His phone buzzed. _I've read it_ , said the reply from Todd. _You?_

_Nope_ , Dick said. _Is it good?_

_Very._

Todd was terse in his texts in a way he wasn't in person, which Dick found a little frustrating. He wasn't sure if he was bothering him, or interrupting something. But, odd as the thought was, he didn't want Todd to forget about him, so he persisted.

Up front, Laine rang up two giggly high school girls who'd pooled their cash to buy a copy of _The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet_ and who promptly crossed the street to Back to the Grind, sat at a sidewalk table, and began passing the book back and forth, reading aloud.

"That's heartwarming, is what that is," Laine said, smiling out the window at them. Beth came out of the café to talk to the girls and gave Laine a wave. Laine immediately turned red and froze. Dick picked up her hand and made it wave back. Beth laughed.

"You should go talk to her," Dick said.

"Mind your own business, minion."

"Your business is my business, boss."

"Not if you keep being this nosy."

Dick put his hands up in defeat and backed off.

That night, Dick hit the gym and then turned in early. His workout wasn't particularly taxing, but he hadn't slept well the night before, waking with the blankets kicked off the bed and strange dreams hovering in his mind. At least it was better than not sleeping at all, but he'd much prefer an actually restful night. He was in bed by ten.

 

"He's fine," Jason said. "No one sleeps perfectly every single night."

Damian's annoyed noise popped over the line. "Why did you give me access to the cameras in his apartment if you were not going to listen to my observations?"

"I listened! And I'm saying, I don't think it's anything to worry about." Jason was in his attic safehouse, tuning into his cameras himself. He wasn't sure where Damian was at the moment.

"He went to bed at ten tonight. Early."

"Not for normal people who need to work a morning shift. Or who are tired because they slept badly the night before," Jason pointed out.

"You are to wait, Todd," Damian hissed. "Do not endanger him with your impatience."

"First of all, brat, this is a partnership. You don't get to give me orders," Jason snapped. "And second of all, I _know_. 'Todd Peters' isn't coming back to Gotham for another week."

"Hmph. Good," Damian said. There was a pause that was slightly longer than was natural. Jason had expected Damian to hang up like he normally did when he considered a conversation to be over. But then— "I… have been thinking."

Jason considered snarking about that, but he stayed quiet for once, aware of the fragility of their team-up and willing to make the small concession of keeping his mouth shut for its benefit.

"I have been thinking about meeting him as Robin," Damian said. His voice was very, very quiet.

"Yeah?" Jason said. "If the next hang out I have with him goes well, that could be a good next step to bump it up a notch."

"No," Damian said. "I've been thinking that it is not a good idea after all."

"What?" Jason was surprised. He knew Damian wanted it. Badly.

"It's… Robin," Damian said. "It is his."

Jason realized his mouth was hanging open and he shut it with a snap. For Damian to admit ownership of Robin could ever belong to anyone else, even its originator… he was serious about this. "You think it'll be too much?"

"Yes. Obviously. It would be confronting him with a literal piece of his own identity. I will not allow it," Damian stated. Rehearsed. Practiced. Convincing himself.

"Yeah, yeah sure, that's fine," Jason said, his tone mollifying. "That's a good point."

"I _know_ that, Todd, that is why I made it."

Oh good. Back to normal. "No need to get snippy. If this works you'll be flying next to him again before Thanksgiving."

"For that to happen, we will have to actually see improvement, not just a lack of deterioration," Damian said scathingly.

"Hey, you were the one who was just telling me not to be impatient."

"You are infuriating, Todd."

"Right back at you, birdbrain."

There was a frustrated noise and Damian hung up. Jason snorted to himself and tossed the phone onto the mattress, turning his attention to his cameras.

On the screen, Dick slept, but not quietly. He turned one way, then the other. Occasionally his limbs would jerk. He was tangling himself in his blanket, and he was mumbling something. Jason turned up the volume and ran what sound processing he could on his basic set up, but couldn't make out anything coherent. Leave it to Dick to talk even while asleep. He grabbed a section of the recording and extracted the sound to send to Damian to see if he could sneak some time on the Batcomputer to parse it more clearly. Then he went to bed.

 

Dick peered at the few shelves of reference materials they had in the store. A lot of very helpful guides and histories, but not what he was looking for. "Do we have any books on dreams?" he asked Laine.

"We have an Internet connection," Laine said dryly.

"I thought a book might be more reliable."

"Depends on the book. Whatcha' dreaming about? No wait," she said raising a hand to forestall Dick's explanation. "If it's about Thigh Guy, I don't want to know."

"Very funny," Dick said. "I was just curious." There were some things you didn't share with your boss, and a dream starting with a very real memory of your parents' traumatic deaths was one of them.

This wasn't the first time Dick had dreamed of his parents' fall, of course. He just hadn't in a very long time. He'd thought he had come to terms with it. He remembered being angry, so angry at what had happened to them, at wanting vengeance when he found out it hadn't been an accident. But though Bruce was a terrible replacement for two loving parents, one thing he did have going for him was a solid knowledge of the best therapists money could buy. Dick had thought he'd worked through his issues.

Apparently not. And the dream didn't end there. After the fall, Dick, fully grown, was whisked away to Wayne Manor and that was when things got trippy. The huge front doors had slammed closed behind him and suddenly the entry hall was full of people. They were all turned away from Dick so he couldn't see any of their faces, even when he tried to grab one of them by the shoulder and turn her around.

Dick had pushed through the crowd toward what was normally a large staircase curving up to the second floor mezzanine. But this time, there were a dozen staircases spiraling away from him, some going up, some plunging through the floor, others careening through the walls. The crowd jostled him from behind and people started climbing or descending the stairs, one person on each set.

"Wait," Dick had said. He'd stood in front of a woman with red hair, but she simply passed through him. A man slightly shorter and younger than Dick drew near him, black hair a disheveled mess. Dick tried to grab his arm, but he shrugged out of the way and darted up the stairs. Then another man bumped Dick heading to a staircase curving down. Dick could almost, _almost_ make out his face. "Wait," he'd said again.

The man didn't wait, but Dick chased after him this time. He was broad-shouldered, his black hair short, and had just a suggestion of green around the eyes that Dick couldn't exactly focus on. And then, in the dream, plunging down the stairs into darkness after him, Dick had called out his name.

He couldn't remember it now that he'd woken, and the rest of the dream had sort of disintegrated from there, but it was haunting him. He thought the man he'd chased might have been Todd, but it didn't quite feel right. The dream-guy was slightly different somehow (other than not having a face) and Dick had definitely called him something different.

"Hey, you all right?" Laine asked. Dick had been spacing out again.

"Yeah, just a headache," Dick said. He wandered over to the picture window and helped Laine start shifting books for a new display.

"You've been getting a lot of those. Have you seen a doctor about them?"

"They're mild," Dick said. "Probably just a change in the weather."

"Well, good. I can't actually afford health insurance for you."

"I have a trust fund," Dick said with a crooked smile. "Pretty sure Bruce still has me covered in some way or another, too. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that."

"About your trust fund?" Laine asked with an arched eyebrow. The window was clear now and she tossed Dick a dust rag so he could wipe it down before they put anything else there.

"About you paying me," Dick said, dutifully swiping at the wood. "I've been thinking about it and I feel kind of bad taking a job someone else could probably really use just because I need something to do—"

"Oh, shut up," Laine said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

"I'm serious!"

"I'm not hiring anyone else, Dick. I don't think I could trust anyone else with my baby," she said. "You came with impeccable references."

"And a sack of cash," Dick reminded her.

"And a sack of cash," she agreed.

"Which you are now spending on _paying me_ , an employee you didn't want."

"What can I say, you turned out useful. It was a very generous grant, Dick. It's fine. Stop bothering me about it." She straightened suddenly and shot him a look. "Unless you want to quit?"

"And leave all this?" Dick Windexed the window and watched drops race downward. He caught them just before they hit the sill and started wiping. "I'm just saying, you could pay me less. Or not at all. It's not like Bruce can't afford my apartment."

"Pretty sure that would be illegal, Dick."

"Call it volunteering."

"Sounds like a paperwork nightmare. No thanks."

Dick huffed and climbed out of the picture window to cross his arms disapprovingly at her. "You're being difficult."

"It's my bookshop. I'll run it wrong if I want to. Any other input, minion?"

"Yeah. You should ask Beth out."

Laine threw another dust rag at him.

 

That night, Dick dreamt of the manor and the stairs again, but this time he got farther. He chased the man who almost had a face down the stairs, right on his heels until he came to the bottom of the staircase. The man had somehow disappeared and left Dick standing alone in a darkened hallway lined with doors of different sizes and shapes, all dark wood, and a plush red carpet beneath his feet.

"Move forward," a disembodied voice ordered. Dick immediately stopped moving. He wasn't sure why; he just didn't want to do what that voice wanted. "Just take one step forward," the voice coaxed. As much as instinct told him to resist, though, Dick somehow _also_ wanted to obey. He shook his head. The headache he'd had while awake seemed to have seeped into his dream.

Dick turned from the hallway, intending to go back up the stairs, but the stairway was gone. The hallway just stretched in either direction until it was lost in shadow. Dick reached out to the door closest to him, the only one he could touch without taking a step. It was tall and narrow. He'd have to turn sideways to go through it. The diamond knob was cold under his fingers.

"Don't open that," the voice ordered. Dick's grip on the handle tightened, but he didn't pull. He braced his other hand on the wall beside the door and willed his wrist to turn. The facets of the diamond cut into his hand. He thought he could hear laughter, low and sinister, from the other side of the door and he suddenly thought maybe he wouldn't open it after all.

"Good boy," the voice praised. Dick gritted his teeth and _yanked_.

The door flew open and rust-colored smoke poured out, engulfing Dick. He coughed and the smoke scraped his throat, poured into it and saturated his lungs, forcing them to expand. His vision doubled and that deep chuckle came a little closer. Five needle-sharp fingertips dragged down his back.

Dick woke up.

He didn't startle awake, or sit up suddenly. His eyes simply flew open and a moment later he recognized the bed underneath him and window in his line of vision as he lay on his side in the same position he'd fallen asleep in.

He was covered in sweat, his chest and the back of his neck clammy with it. His eyes inched over to the bathroom with its closed door, but he didn't move any other part of his body, suddenly struck with the inexplicable fear that if one limb inched out over the edge of the mattress, something would _grab_ it. He was curled up, hands drawn close to his chest, knees crooked. The blanket still covered him this time, which maybe helped explain the sweat, but he couldn't bring himself to throw it off. Instead, he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, promising himself that when he was calm he'd get up, splash some water on his face, and maybe change the pillowcase.

He fell asleep like that, dozing in fits and starts until the sun replaced the darkness of his room with grey shadows and Dick finally dragged himself up to wash a load of bedding on his day off.

 

"I deciphered the sound file," Damian said without preamble.

"Well it's about time," Jason said. He was crouched behind an HVAC unit watching Red Robin watch Dick head to kickboxing class.

"Do you think it is _easy_ co-opting the equipment in the cave for a secret project?" Damian bristled. "The entire house is full of individuals specially trained to be suspicious. Were my skill any less than it is—"

"Okay, I get it, you're a sneaky genius. What was he saying?" Jason interrupted. Dick had entered the sports center where his class was held, but Red Robin wasn't leaving. The building had high, inset windows lining it, and Red Robin had tucked himself into the corner of one. He was sitting with one knee drawn up, watching the class. He'd better hope no one looked up.

"…Jason."

"What?"

Damian huffed. "That is what he _said_. Your name."

"My— he—" Jason felt his face heating for no particular reason. "That's a good thing, right?"

"I am cautiously optimistic." He didn't sound cautiously optimistic. He sounded like he was trying to refrain from jumping up and down. "Grayson has been exhibiting no negative symptoms, correct?"

"Yeah. Seems to be sleeping fine, haven't seen him acting sick or anything. This… this could actually work," Jason said.

"It's one mumbled word," Damian said. "It is hardly a breakthrough."

"Okay, Negative Nancy. Think he can take a bit more of a push?"

"We would be foolish to underestimate him. Inform me of your plans when you've made them."

Damian hung up. Jason grinned and texted Dick right away so he'd see it when he checked his phone after class. Then, since Tim didn't seem to be going anywhere, Jason took off to wrap up his own patrol.

 

Todd had told Dick to pick the place this time, and Dick had suggested going out for drinks. Not that he was much of a drinker himself, but that seemed the sort of thing that was right for a second date. He'd then run directly to Laine to figure out where the hell in Gotham was a good bar for two guys to go and talk for hours and _possibly_ (because Dick was an optimist) engage in public displays of affection safely.

That was how they'd ended up tucked in a booth in a low-key bar that had simple but good food and was filled with the sounds of whatever was on the radio, a few people playing pool, and rain spattering against the one window in the place.

Dick had just finished telling Todd about volunteering with the women's self-defense class while Todd finished off Dick's basket of fries.

"So you're really just there to give them someone to practice on? No experience yourself?" Todd asked. Dick might have imagined it – wishfully – but he thought Todd was eyeing him a little intently.

"Oh, no, this is all for show," Dick said, with a little self-deprecating gesture at what he knew was a phenomenal physique. "I am taking a kickboxing class, but I just started. I don't have any experience in that kind of thing."

"Really," Todd said. "You any good?"

"Actually yeah," Dick said. "The instructor says I have a knack. What about you, though?" he asked, well aware that they'd mostly talked about _him_ the whole night. "You don't get a body like that consulting," he added with a grin.

Todd nearly choked on a French fry and took a hasty swallow from his beer to wash it down. "Sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "Uh, just, uh, you know. Working out, same as you. Hey, you said you're from Bludhaven, right?"

Dick raised an eyebrow at the slightly awkward subject change, but then, he'd known Todd was shy. It was why he'd been dialing back the flirting; he didn't want to scare him away, and the strangest things seemed to fluster him. "Most recently, yeah. Lived in Gotham as a kid, though."

"Never really understood why someone would pick Bludhaven over Gotham," Todd said. "Especially you. You could go anywhere, right?"

Dick shrugged. "Bludhaven had its appeal. Less supervillains for one thing."

"But not zero supervillains," Todd pointed out. "Less superheroes, too."

"Yeah, just, uh… just the one," Dick said. He had a sudden nagging feeling in the back of his mind, like he'd maybe left the stove on.

"You ever see him?" Todd asked. Dick cocked his head at him. "You know," Todd said. "Nightwing."

"No," Dick said. "I don't think so."

"Ah."

Dick thought he sounded a little disappointed. Maybe shy, gorgeous Todd was secretly a cape-chaser. "I did have a run-in with Red Hood a few weeks back, though," Dick said.

"Did you."

Now that was interesting. Todd had straightened. A little bit more tension in his shoulders, in his grip on the beer. Dick was good at reading bodies, always had been. Part of his acrobatics training, of course. "Yeah. It was… strange."

"Strange? You mean scary."

"No," Dick said slowly. "I wouldn't call it that. Just strange. Almost like I surprised him as much as he surprised me. But he saved me from a mugger. Can't complain."

"Huh. You're… surprisingly chill about that."

"Why, how would you react if you suddenly ran into a vigilante in a dark alley?"

"Depends on the vigilante," Todd muttered.

"Oh that sounds like a story," Dick said, leaning forward.

Todd laughed, his whole demeanor changing in an instant, tension sliding out of him. "No, no. No stories here. You live here long enough, you get the hang of avoiding Bats."

_Liar_ , Dick thought, and didn't know why he thought it. He stowed the thought away for future inspection.

Eventually the rain let up and they paid their bill and headed out. Todd offered to walk him home since they weren't far. Dick grinned and said okay, but only if Todd promised to protect him from the Red Hood. Todd seemed to find that hilarious.

They walked mainly in silence. Dick's fingers itched to take Todd's hand, his arm ached to slide through Todd's, but Todd was walking with his hands in his pockets and his mind seemed preoccupied, eyes turned up to the rooftops as they went.

"I do that too," Dick said.

"What's that?"

"Looking up. At the sky, at the rooftops. I always thought people living in cities learn to keep their heads down and only tourists look up. But I can't help it for some reason. Thought it was some weird circus kid thing."

Todd looked at him askance as they walked and Dick looked at his feet, thinking he'd finally said something strange enough that Todd was put off. But then he said, "I don't think it's weird."

"No?"

"Doesn't hurt to be aware. And in this city, a lot can come at you from above. Always look up, unless you're high enough to look down."

"That would be something," Dick said wistfully. "I wish we could travel that way. Along the rooftops, above it all."

Todd didn't answer. They were approaching Dick's apartment and Dick stared up at his window as they drew closer. He thought about climbing the stairs and letting himself into a dark place that was still only "home", complete with quotes, because he didn't have anything better to call it.

He glanced over at Todd as they slowed to a halt in front of the building's stoop and Dick realized with a catch of his breath that this felt like letting go; like he was about lose his grip on a lifeline and go back to treading water in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. He had a sudden foreboding that if Todd walked away into the night, Dick would never find _it_ , that thing he was searching for, because this, _this_ was it, it was right here in front of him.

He grabbed Todd's hand. "Come upstairs?"

Todd's eyes widened. He looked down at their hands, then up at Dick's face, then further up at the dark window of Dick's apartment. "I… upstairs? With you?"

It was clear that Todd's _with you_ meant exactly what Dick wanted it to mean, but Dick still grinned crookedly and joked, "Do you see a more attractive option on this street?"

Todd pulled his hand back and Dick's smile faded. "I can't," Todd said. The words sounded sucker-punched out of him, like something he hadn't braced for.

"Oh," Dick said. "Okay."

"I should go." Before Dick could say or do anything else, Todd had crossed the street and darted around a corner. Dick stared after him, trying not to feel too heartbroken about the fact that Todd seemed to be running away from him for the second time since they'd met.

 

Jason leaned against the damp concrete of a random building and tipped his head back to stare up at the murky sky. What. The. Hell. Dick had just… propositioned him.

They really had broken his brain.

Damian was going to _kill_ him.

Right on cue, his phone began to ring. He thought about it through three rings and then answered, speaking, for once, before Damian could. "We have a problem," Jason said.

"Is Grayson all right?" Damian demanded.

"I… probably. Physically."

"What? Todd, what have you done?"

"Me? Don't forget we're partners in this, half-pint," Jason said, feeling his temper rise.

"I'm coming to you. Do not go anywhere."

"What? No, that's— meet me on Gotham National. By the headless gargoyle," Jason said, knowing that once Damian got an idea in his head it was useless to argue with him. He might as well have this conversation happen farther away from Dick, just in case Damian really _did_ try to kill him.

"I will be there in three minutes."

Crap. Jason would have to hurry. He ran to where he'd parked his bike, made sure he was out of view of any people or cameras, put on the spare domino, utility belt, and leather jacket he kept in the storage compartment, and hauled ass up to the rooftops.

Robin was waiting for him when he made it to Gotham National three and half minutes later.

"Well?" Robin said. Jason was surprised he wasn't tapping his foot in impatience.

"How much did you see?"

"Only what passed between you at the bar since we bugged it beforehand," Robin said testily. "I was manipulating the cameras on your route to and from, which means no one could see you, including me. And you refused to wear a wire so I did not _hear_ you after you left, either." His tone was accusing.

"Okay, at any point while listening to us talk tonight… at any point did you think it sounded like a _date_?"

He'd actually surprised the kid enough for him to let it show. "A date?" Robin echoed. Then his face began to color. "Todd, I don't know what might be happening in your Pit-addled brain, but if you think for one moment I will allow you to take advantage of this situation to, to—"

Jason thought it best to interrupt before he heard exactly what Robin might accuse him of. "Not _me_ , idiot. Him. Dick— Dick asked me up to his place afterward." He felt like he was _confessing_ and reminded himself that he had nothing to feel guilty about.

Robin stared at him blankly. "So? You have formed a convincing friendship. Invitations to each others' homes are to be expected, are they not?"

"No, that's not what he meant," Jason said. "I mean he _invited_ me _up_."

The blank stare continued for a beat before Robin's eyes widened and his blush deepened. "You misinterpreted," he said.

"I don't think so, kid."

"You must have. Grayson is not one for spontaneous dalliances with people he has no romantic inclination toward, so if he did, as you say, invite you up, that would indicate that he has thought your interest romantic this entire time."

Jason spread his hands with a meaningful look, indicating that Robin had finally caught up with what he was saying.

"That is preposterous. Why would Grayson wish to date you?"

"Hey," Jason said. Robin raised an eyebrow at him and Jason sighed. "Yeah, okay, fine, I didn't see it either. But you see what I mean when I say we have a problem?"

"Yes," Damian said, putting his hand to his chin thoughtfully. "He is clearly confused. It is possible we've underestimated the full effect our efforts have been having."

"Not to mention the fact that I've apparently been leading Dick on." Jason didn't like that feeling at all. Messing with Dick's mind was one thing; he'd never intended to mess with his emotions. Not like this.

"I wonder if we could turn this to our advantage." Robin fixed Jason with a look that made him feel like a butterfly pinned to a board.

"What happened to _not allowing_ me to 'take advantage'?" Jason sneered.

"This is different. Calculated. You're not actually emotionally invested, and once Grayson is back to normal he won't be either—"

"No," Jason said. "That's not— you can't just mess with someone like that, Damian. I can't. Won't."

Robin gave him a mild look, but he didn't even tell Jason off for using his name so Jason supposed he'd made his point. "I see," Robin said. "Well then, what is it you propose?"

"I don't know. I… think Todd Peters needs to retire from this particular operation. Let me think on it. We'll keep watching Dick and regroup when we see how he handles this."

Jason felt sure Robin was going to chew him out for such a vague plan, or accuse him of abandoning the mission. But Robin simply watched him with narrowed eyes and crossed arms and eventually nodded. "We will meet back here in three days," Robin decided. "Barring unforeseen circumstances." He gave Jason the smallest of nods and took off from the building's ledge.

_Unforeseen circumstances_. Jason snorted. With Dick, it seemed like everything was an unforeseen circumstance. He only hoped that might include his recovery.

 

Dick trudged up to his apartment. He gave a half-hearted wave to Erika as they passed on the stairs, let himself into his place, and flicked on the lights. He flopped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. What had he done wrong? Could Todd really be _that_ shy, or was it Dick himself that put him off? He stared at the ceiling for an indeterminate about of time before heaving himself back off the couch with a sigh. He needed a shower, a nice, long, warm one to drown his sorrows.

He headed for the bathroom, dropping articles of clothing as he went, and paused in front of the mirror while he waited for the water to warm up. People had been telling him his entire life how attractive he was, but there was nothing like rejection to make you second guess yourself.

But no, he decided, whatever it was, it probably wasn't physical, or at least, not about _Dick's_ physicality. Todd had first met him when he was sick as a dog, falling all over both himself and Todd. If he'd still sought Dick out after that, Dick's appearance couldn't be what had drawn him in and therefore probably wasn't something that would drive him away. For that matter, it was entirely possible that Todd was asexual, which could explain his hesitance regarding physical contact. A bad experience coming out in the past could make anyone self-conscious around a potential partner.

Or at least, it _might_ make someone self-conscious, Dick thought, eyeing his scars in the mirror. He didn't have a lot of experience with self-consciousness despite his not insignificant collection of old wounds. They'd never really bothered him; a fall from a tree here, a skiing accident there, and a few he didn't even remember getting including one that almost looked like a bullet wound. But if he had less self-confidence he'd probably hesitate, too, before getting naked in front of someone.

Maybe it was like that for Todd, even if it wasn't on account of actual physical scars, which seemed likely – not many people had the kind of scarring Dick had, not without living a pretty dangerous kind of life. Someone in the locker room at the gym had once asked Dick if he was in some kind of underground fighting ring. Todd had the body for something like that, but he really didn't strike Dick as… the… type.

Something was nagging at the back of Dick's mind again. He shut off the shower without even getting in so that he could think, hands braced on the sink. It was something Todd had said earlier that night. He played back the conversation in his head.

Todd had asked about Bludhaven, and specifically Nightwing. He'd gotten a little strange when Dick had mentioned Red Hood. He watched the rooftops the way Dick did, like he was thinking of flying between them. He'd helped a total stranger who'd fallen into his arms deathly ill. He was a little high-strung, hesitated to get intimate, was regularly out of town in unspecified locations for a vague job…

Dick stared at his own shocked reflection. No way. It couldn't be.

He snatched up a pair of pajama pants from his laundry pile and hopped into them before dragging out his laptop. He hardly ever used it, but he wanted a larger screen for this. A quick Google image search filled his browser with photos, some better than others but none of them particularly _good_. Dick clicked one after another anyway, peering at them, searching for recognizable features.

The pictures tended to be from a distance, many of them blurred by motion, but Dick could definitely see dark hair, a good physique; enough similarities that yes, it was possible, and aside from that, the pictures looked familiar _._ Or, that wasn't quite right. They _felt_ familiar, maybe. The more he looked, and the more he thought about it, the more the feeling of certainty grew.

Todd Peters… was Nightwing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25837084-the-left-hand-of-darkness): Sci-fi featuring a planet full of people who shift through genders/sexes and spend much of their time genderless
> 
> [The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers](https://www.goodreads.com/book/22733729-the-long-way-to-a-small-angry-planet): Sci-fi with a diverse ensemble cast (feat. sex positivity and wlw characters)


	9. Chapter 9

Jason lay on his mattress and stared at the slanted ceiling above him. He thought about leaving town. He did it often enough. It wasn't all that long ago that he'd have taken off with the barest excuse just to escape the looming shadow cast by Batman and his allies, the feeling of being watched, crowded, stifled in _his_ city. Gotham always pulled him back, though, and lately he'd only left when he'd actually needed to follow a lead on the endless supply lines of drugs running into the city, or to chase down villains both mundane and super.

He didn't have anything like that to chase after at the moment, though. He'd still been running patrol, of course, but he'd been foregoing any deep investigative work recently in favor of focusing on this thing with Dick.

"Yeah. This was a mistake," he said to himself. He rolled off the mattress to his feet and strode across the small attic space of his downtown safehouse, fully intending on starting to pack up and secure the place for a prolonged departure anyway.

Then he thought about Dick staring at the rooftops.

"Fuck," he muttered, his purposeful stride turning to pacing.

No. No, he was not actually considering this. Why should he? This had become way more trouble than rubbing something in Bruce's face was worth.

 _More trouble than Dick's worth?_ a sly voice in his mind asked.

Jason sneered, unaware he was even doing it. Why should he come riding to Dick's rescue? Let Damian handle it; Jason had done enough just pointing out the way. Let Damian be the one to watch Dick's face for any twinge of discomfort, the one to slowly draw memories from him, the one to spend hours with him over coffee and fried food, to tell him about what he'd been reading lately, to laugh about the minutiae of everyday life, to walk him home…

Oh _fuck_.

Jason froze, eyes widening in dawning horror as the realization of exactly what it was he was starting to feel slowly trickled through his brain. Then his phone chimed. He pulled it out with a slightly wild look, half expecting to have somehow summoned Dick with his thoughts.

It was Babs. Jason exhaled harshly and silenced the phone. He didn't have time for whatever it was. He needed to figure out how he was going to handle—

Across the room, he could see the small blinking light in his helmet that indicated an incoming message. The basic computer set-up he'd rigged registered an email, and then a new bubble in the private bat-chat. His phone rang again.

He stalked over to the computer, the repeated messages having the opposite of their intended effect and making him _less_ inclined to answer any of them. But before he closed the chat box, he read it. It was from Oracle, of course, and just read _My place. Now. We have something to discuss._

Jason cocked his head, shoving down his personal crisis with practiced ease. It wasn't an emergency if she was being that vague, but it must be kind of urgent given all the contacts. And she wanted to talk to him in person. Could be something brewing in Gotham's underbelly. Could be family drama. Could be—

No. It couldn't be. She couldn't know what he and Damian had been doing.

Except this was Oracle and she absolutely could know what he and Damian had been doing.

He grabbed the helmet and his gear and made his way down through the building and to his underground exit, heading toward Oracle's place.

Avoiding her didn't even cross his mind. If she _did_ know, he didn't want to piss her off enough that she went straight to Batman. And if this was about something else, well, he had no reason to avoid her.

But when he arrived at her door twenty minutes later and Damian answered it, he knew he was in trouble.

"Do I even want to know what you're doing here?" he said, pushing past Damian into the apartment.

"Surely even your mental powers might assay a halfway competent deduction in that respect," Damian grumbled back. Oh great. A sentence like that definitely meant Damian was grumpy, and yes, Jason could _assay_ a guess as to why that might be.

"Babs," Jason said with a nod when he found her in her tech-cave.

"Jason," she said, not turning around from the glow of her screens. "Care to explain this?"

Jason peered at the array. One screen seemed to be mirroring someone else's computer. Whoever it was was scrolling through a Google image search of Nightwing photos, occasionally clicking on one. On another monitor, Babs had clearly co-opted the computer's webcam. Dick was lounging on his couch, laptop on his stomach, a look of intense concentration on his face. While he scrolled through Nightwing photos. 

"Oh. That's…"

"Bad, Jason. It's _bad_ ," Babs said, shoving herself around to face him.

"Okay. What does it have to do with me?"

The glare she leveled at him could have deep-fried a turkey. She reached behind herself and, without looking, tapped a few keys. A sound file opened on another monitor and a certain recording of Dick's voice came through her speakers, a breathy, half-moaned _Jason_.

Jason felt his ears go hot.

"Would you like to explain yourself _now_?"

"…Nope."

"I'll just assume the worst, then, shall I?" Babs asked. "Because based on the digging I've been doing, it looks like you've decided to deliberately compromise Dick's mind and somehow conned Damian into helping you do it." She sounded incredibly calm, and that made Jason incredibly nervous.

"Todd has conned me into nothing," Damian said, materializing behind Jason. "What we are doing is for Grayson's benefit."

Barbara stared at him. "Oh dear, sweet Lovelace in heaven," she said, pressing a hand over her eyes. "You actually are doing exactly what this looks like. On purpose." She dragged her hand down slowly, then used both to rub her temples. "I was really hoping I was reading this all wrong. But no, you're… you're playing with Dick's _brain_. Great. Wonderful. What the _hell_ you guys?!" She brought her fist down on the arm of her wheelchair, glaring at them,

"Way to confirm that for her, brat," Jason hissed at Damian.

Damian scoffed. "She already knew enough. And since what we are doing is not wrong, our best course of action is to enlist her aid."

" _She_ is sitting right here," Barbara spat. " _She_ was delighted when Dick turned on his computer for the first time in weeks because it's the only bug we have inside his apartment. I literally thought I was hallucinating when I saw what he was looking up though. What, I asked myself, could possibly have made happy little average citizen Dick Grayson suddenly go hunting for Nightwing photos?"

"He isn't _happy_ ," Damian started.

"You don't know everything, Damian," Barbara said, with some acid in her voice. "Point of fact: I went looking at surveillance around his apartment to see if I could find out where he'd gone tonight." She jabbed a finger at him. "Not bad, little bat, but nowhere near good enough if someone's actually paying attention. Your fingerprints are all over everything you messed with, which made me wonder what else you'd been working on lately. I'm guessing you didn't know I get pinged any time someone remote-connects to the Batcomputer, so it was pretty easy to find."

Jason glared accusingly at Damian. "So much for your _skill_."

"What was I supposed to do? Creep down to the cave and sit before the computer for anyone to see? I… did not know about the pings," Damian admitted grudgingly.

"Yeah, that started to clear things up," Babs said, crossing her arms and turning her gaze to Jason. "Because Damian's movements in the city are pretty strictly accounted for. But it's not Damian's name Dick's moaning in that recording, now, is it?"

"He's not… it wasn't a _moan_ ," Jason protested, mortified.

"Really? Because I cleaned and reset the traffic cams working backwards from Damian's  cute little looping attempts and I have just the most _adorable_ shot of you two outside Dick's apartment tonight—"

"This only proves that your ridiculous monitoring system isn't good enough," Damian said, with a sideways look at Jason that Jason did not miss but didn't know how to interpret. "This solution of Father's is no solution at all! We cannot watch over Grayson as closely as he needs—"

"It's as close as any _average civilian_ needs," Barbara shot back. "It's as close as Dick would need if you two weren't interfering. Now." She took a breath, visibly calming herself. "Tell. Me. Everything."

"Are you going to tell B?" Jason asked.

"I haven't decided yet. But if you don't cooperate it's an automatic yes."

Jason and Damian exchanged a look. Damian flung up his hands in annoyance and stomped out of the room, which Jason took to mean it was up to him. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and told her everything.

* * *

"Wait," Babs said. "Let me get this straight. You wanted to poke Dick's brain into healing itself, and your strategy was to _date him_?"

About a third of the way through the story, Babs had stopped Jason, claiming she didn't think she could get through this without a drink. Now they were all in her living room. Damian was sitting upside-down on Babs' couch, feet in the air and head hanging over the seat, hands folded on his stomach, eyes closed and expression meditative. Babs had acquired a glass of wine. Jason hadn't sat. He was pacing while Babs watched him like he was a pro tennis match.

"No," Jason said. "That was not my strategy. It wasn't even a tactic. I have no clue where the fuck he got that idea."

"I concur," Damian said, cracking one eye open. "Grayson must be experiencing some sort of emotional bleedthrough, conflating a feeling of familiarity with one of romantic interest."

"Exactly," Jason said.

"Damian, how many dates have you been on?" Babs asked sweetly.

"Don't be absurd. I do not have the time—"

"Uh huh," Babs interrupted. "And you, Jason?"

"I know what a date is, Babs," Jason growled, rather than answer the question. "These weren't. Or, they weren't supposed to be. Dick's brain is all scrambled, remember? He's confused."

"Hm," Babs said. "Maybe." She didn't sound like she put much stock in that theory. "Regardless, _he_ clearly thought you were dating, given the events of this evening. You know, when you ran away from him without even making up an excuse."

"…Ah, fuck," Jason said.

"Yep," agreed Babs. "So, here's what we're going to do. You're going to give me access to those cameras you planted in his apartment, and you're going to get me any data you've gathered – conversation transcripts, audio files, whatever. _And_ ," she continued, raising her voice and one finger when Jason opened his mouth to interrupt. "You are going to do it without arguing."

"Just wanted to know how soon I should start packing my bags and getting the hell out of Dodge," Jason muttered.

"I… haven't decided what to tell Bruce yet," Babs said. Damian opened both eyes this time, and Jason eyed her mostly-empty wine glass.

"How many of those have you had?"

"Ha. Ha. Hilarious. Do you _want_ me to tell on you?" Babs leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair and massaged her forehead. "Look, if you're both this sure about what you're doing, there might be something to it. I want to form my own conclusions. I will promise to give you a heads up if I'm going to B with it, though. In exchange, you're taking a break while I look into it, okay?"

Damian curled his legs in and rolled off the couch into a standing position. "Surveillance will continue," he said.

Babs nodded. "Sure. But no contact."

Damian nodded. Then both of them looked at Jason, who sighed. "Yeah. Of course. Lemme patch you into the cameras now."

Barbara brought up her chair's holographic interface and Jason connected her to the button cameras he'd left in Dick's apartment. Babs' system picked up the feed easily and immediately began showing the rudimentary surveillance.

"Oh _shit_ ," she said. Damian and Jason crowded around her.

Dick's computer had been left sitting on a couch cushion. Dick was standing over the sink in his kitchen, head tilted back, a wadded up paper towel pressed under his nose. It was rapidly turning red, and there was another one, soaked through, sitting in the sink. There was a streak of bright blood down Dick's chest where he hadn't caught the nosebleed quickly enough.

"That's not normal," Babs said. "Guys—"

"No, it's just like that time he was sick after running into me in the alley," Jason said, a little desperately. "Look, he's not in pain, it's just a nosebleed."

Indeed, Dick just looked sort of annoyed to have to be standing there while this inconvenience ran its course. As they watched, he pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly drew away the paper towel – only to have to lunge for a new one when blood continued to run freely from his nose. The roll of paper towels had bloody fingerprints all over it.

"I have to go to B with this," Babs said.

Damian put a hand on her arm and Babs blinked at him. She couldn't remember the last time he'd touched her voluntarily. "Please," Damian said. "Do not underestimate Grayson."

On the display, Dick attempted to remove the ball of paper towel again. This time, there was no further bleeding. He tipped his head forward experimentally and, when there were no adverse results, gathered up the bloody mess in the sink and dropped it into the garbage can. He ran a thumb over the dried streaks on his chest with a sigh. Computer forgotten for the moment, he went back through his bedroom to the bathroom. A moment later, the bedroom camera picked up the sound of the shower running.

Babs rubbed her mouth, considering. "If _anything_ like that happens again in the next twenty-four hours, I'm reporting it," she said. "And previous terms apply."

"Thank you," Damian said seriously.

"That's getting a little freaky," Babs said.

"Yeah, well, the things we do for Dick," Jason replied. "Are we done here? I've got places to be."

 

If he thought he was going to escape that easily, though, he was mistaken. Damian caught up with him at ground level as he mounted his bike.

"I require a ride," Damian said.

"You what?"

Damian simply crossed his arms and stared at Jason.

"Where does Bruce think you are right now, exactly?" Jason asked suspiciously. Damian was dressed in civilian clothing (as was Jason) and there was no indication of how he'd gotten here.

"Here, of course. Gordon called on the pretext of asking for my insight on certain assassin profiles she is assembling. Since Father would not want me going out as Robin on my own afterward, I was forced to come as a civilian and rely on Pennyworth for transportation. If you would prefer I disturb him again for pick-up—"

"Okay, okay, just stop talking," Jason said. "Get on." He'd seen the way Damian had casually rolled his eyes in the direction of Babs' security cameras on the corners of the buildings.

Sure enough, when they were a block or two away, Damian signaled him to slow down. Jason did so, gladly. Having Damian ride pillion was kind of like having a bomb strapped to the back of his bike. It didn't help that Damian barely hung on, keeping just one hand on Jason's jacket for balance but otherwise simply clinging to the bike with his knees as though it was a horse. It was a completely different feeling from having Dick ride along…

Jason pulled over onto a side street. "Well?" he asked, cutting the engine and putting one foot on the ground so he could turn toward Damian.

"We must act. We cannot risk Oracle alerting my father and ruining our plans."

"You sound like a supervillain right now, you know that?"

"Focus, Todd! We must take extreme measures while we can."

"I really hope you're not talking about doing something to prevent Babs from talking to Bruce," Jason said. "That would be extraordinarily stupid."

"That must be why you thought of it," Damian snapped. "No, fool, I am talking about Grayson. The time for mincing action is past. You must confront him as Red Hood, push him along more strongly than we have been doing. I know you—"

"Okay," Jason said. "Sure."

"What?"

"I said sure. I'll do it."

Damian's brow wrinkled. "I see. I had begun to think you were truly invested in Grayson's wellbeing."

"What? Did I just fail a test or something? Get off."

Damian eyed him, but hopped off the back of the bike.

"Good. If you're about to hit me I want to see it coming," Jason said. "Look, you're right. If we keep tiptoeing around, someone less reasonable than Barbie is gonna find out what we're doing. So, the sooner we get this done, the better."

"Even with the added risk?"

"You're the one who suggested it."

"I thought I would have to talk you into it!"

"Of course if you _really_ wanted to push him, you know what you could do."

"I do not—"

"Robin," Jason said. "Go to him as Robin. If you want to completely bulldoze whatever walls J'onn put up in his head, that's the surest bet."

Damian's glare was all sullen, banked embers. "I— I would not— Something that extreme—"

"Ah," said Jason. "So you want to take decisive action but not _that_ decisive. If something's gonna break you don't want to be the one holding the hammer. Nice." He kicked the bike back to life. "Find your own way home, asshole." And he left Damian Wayne standing on the street in the dark behind him.

 

Contrary to what he'd said to Barbara, Jason did not actually have anywhere else to be that night except in bed. He didn't want to go through all the rigmarole required of his attic safehouse, and he was tired, so he settled for a closer one. It was more conventionally located in an apartment building and was much less of a bolt-hole, featuring actual kitchen facilities and a bathroom that wasn't jury-rigged.

Jason ignored all of these amenities, though, and simply removed his outer layers and slid between the slightly musty but clean sheets on the small bed. What with his inauspicious evening with Dick (which he'd hardly had time to process before the summons from Babs) and the weird way the demon brat had been acting all night, he should have been out as soon as his face dented the pillow.

But if anyone knew how little justice there was in the world, it was Jason Todd. And so he was not surprised to find himself lying awake in bed, thoughts churning away in his skull. Maybe he should have worked off some energy before trying to sleep, but he wasn't _quite_ awake enough to make himself get out of bed, so he stayed there, caught in his thoughts.

He was pissed at Damian. He was even more pissed that Damian had a point. They couldn't wait for Babs to go to Bruce. Bruce would, without question, put an end to all of this and then Dick would be stuck like this forever. Which meant Jason would be stuck like this forever, feeling… _something_ … for a guy who didn't exist.

Jason definitely needed Dick to go back to being himself, and not this weird, baggage-free, friendly imitation who fell for people way too easily. Then Jason could go back to being alternately exasperated and/or angry with Dick and everything he represented, and not… whatever it was his brain was trying to convince him he felt toward Dick now.

So Todd was out. Had to be. Red Hood was in, whether Damian was still helping him or not. If he worked quickly enough, if Dick was as close as it seemed to pulling off that mental band-aid, it wouldn't matter. Dick would be back to normal and Jason could flee the state before Bruce could even decide how mad he was.

Having come to a decision, Jason finally felt sleep pulling at him, just as sunlight began to truly seep through his curtains. He let himself fall into dreaming with relief.

 

Jason woke the following afternoon and immediately checked in on Dick. He was in his apartment, not getting ready to go to the gym. Jason frowned. It was self-defense class day. Dick didn't usually skip. Was he okay? Was he—

Todd's phone dinged. Dick was texting him. Jason looked back to his surveillance. Dick was sprawled on his couch, phone held up over his face, apparently trying to glare a response from the phone. Jason picked it up hesitantly.

_About last night. it's ok, I understand_

Did he?? Probably not. Great, so what did he _think_ he understood? Jason was almost fretful enough to respond, but he restrained himself, and turned Todd's phone off for good measure.

Red Hood couldn't exactly go running into Dick in broad daylight, or even patrolling, so Jason took care of a few mundane realities of owning a safehouse. He washed the sheets. He ran out to the store and replenished the apartment's supply of food staples, checked the first aid station for anything expired and replaced that too, and even dusted. Then he settled in to work on security updates, changing the codes, checking the trips, and everything else that went into making sure the safehouse actually stayed safe.

When the last of the sun was finished spearing between the buildings, he was more than ready to go out. But Dick was still in his apartment. He'd gone out for a few hours and Jason had lost track of him – probably to work, hopefully without incident – but now he was back, lying on the couch and staring at the television, though Jason suspected he wasn't actually watching it. Dick picked up his phone a few times, maybe hopefully, but Jason ignored that.

He headed out anyway. No use in moping around. As far as he knew, nothing had happened today that would make Babs blow their cover, but he couldn't be sure. He had to get out and move or he'd go stir-crazy.

The warm-up of the evening was a random break-in a few buildings over. Couldn't have that, not in a neighborhood where he kept one of his safehouses. He stopped the guy by the simple expedient of throwing him out the window of the apartment he'd broken into. He was even nice enough to open the window first, and close it after himself when he left.

Next on the docket was a couple assholes getting aggressive with one of the working girls on Red Hood's usual patrol route. Now that took a special kind of stupid, or drunk. He didn't wait to find out which it was, just dropped the losers, zipped 'em, kicked them into an alley, and gave the woman a friendly salute before taking off again.

There were little bits of clean-up like that all over town. How could B _possibly_ think this way of doing things was even remotely viable long-term. Red Hood glanced up at the clouds and, sure enough, the Batsignal was blaring away. It had been lit for a while, actually. Batman was getting slow in his old age.

Just as he thought it, though, the emergency channel clicked to life and Oracle's voice came through.

"All points, this is an advisory to stay out of the sewers. Killer Croc is loose. B is on it. Repeat, stay out of the way."

Of course, the line clicked back anyway with at least three different offers of help. Jason rolled his eyes and muted it. Then he looked at the Batsignal again, and grinned.

 

Commissioner Gordon was about to call it a night and head inside when the sudden sound of a heavy body dropping onto the roof behind him made him jump. He dropped his pipe and swore, turning accusingly to glare at—

Not Batman. Of course not Batman. He'd never have heard Batman, though he got the feeling that he'd only heard Red Hood because he'd wanted to startle him. Between one thought and the next, Gordon had forgotten his pipe and pulled his gun, training it on Red Hood's center of mass.

"That's not very friendly," Hood said, hands raised casually not over his head, but only to about shoulder height. He slowly tapped the red bat on his chest with two fingers. "Not a good enough Bat for you?"

"Red Hood, I am placing you under arrest for—"

"Your hands are shaking," Hood said, head cocking. He sounded confused. "Too much caffeine?"

Dammit, they were. He took a steadying breath. "—under arrest for… for being a damn pain in my ass," Gordon spat, unable to remember the specific charges that Red Hood was technically still on the hook for, bat or no bat. Batman had advised him of Red Hood's tentative alliance (not the whole story – never the whole story, with him) but these days you couldn't be too careful, had to protect yourself.

"Relax, Cousin Barney. I'm just here to let you know Bats is already on your little sewer infestation issue. If that's what this is about," he said, tipping his head at the lit signal.

"Altruistic of you," Gordon said. He kept the gun pointed at Red Hood. More or less.

"All right, put that thing down before someone gets hurt," Red Hood said, out of patience.

"Was that a threat?" Gordon's finger convulsed and Red Hood was diving behind the Batsignal even before the sound of the gunshot registered. He responded with two rapid-fire batarangs, pretty much on reflex, and heard the gun go flying and Gordon swear. Red Hood rolled out from behind the signal and acquired the gun on his way back to his feet.

"Guess that'll teach me," he drawled, but inside he was shaking with anger. He didn't tangle with Gordon much, but what the _hell_ had the other Bats been saying about him to pull a reaction like that?

Gordon was on one knee, massaging the hand Red Hood had hit. Jason strolled back over to the signal and clicked it off. "I mean, I'm just assuming this was about the Killer Croc thing, but I'm guessing you won't tell me otherwise anyway. All the little Bats are probably fluttering down to the sewers as we speak to help the big Bat out. Couldn't be bothered to swing by here, but that's manners for you these days." Okay, true, he had detoured over to the GCPD just to mess with Gordon a little, maybe give him a little fright, but he hadn't expected _this_. He turned to Gordon and made a show of ejecting the clip from his gun and pocketing it, then tossing the empty gun to the roof in front of him.

"See you around," he said, and dropped off the ledge of the roof. His grapple caught a building across the street and he swung away in full view, already opening a line to Oracle.

"Hood?" Oracle responded. "I haven't made a decision yet."

"It's not about that, O. Any idea why Commissioner Gordon just took a potshot at me?" he demanded. He was a few blocks over now, heading into the financial district, a good place for gargoyles. He went up, and up, and crouched on a likely-looking creature at the corner of the stock exchange.

"…were you doing crime?" Oracle asked without a hint of apology.

"Jesus, no, I just went to tell him he could turn off his stupid signal since Bats is in the sewers and isn't gonna see it anyway."

Oracle sighed. "Yeah. Thing is, he knows. He's been turning it on lately just to like, intimidate the criminal element. Or something."

"What? That's stupid. How does B know if it's an actual emergency then?"

"Trust me, they've had words. Are you injured?"

"No, your dad's a shit shot."

A pause. "No he's not," she said. "He's… pretty good."

"Well then maybe he's back on that fake nicotine, I dunno. Couldn't have hit the broad side of a barn tonight. Even if the barn deserved it which, I'll add, it didn't."

Another sigh. "I'll talk to him. I don't know what's wrong with him lately. I'm running out of excuses for him."

"Well, talk careful or you might come out of it with an extra hole or two."

"That's not funny, Hood."

"I'm not laughing. Hood out."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my beloved beta reader keeps telling me, you are really not supposed to tip your head back when you have a nosebleed because apparently you could "choke on blood" and "experience gagging, vomiting, and an irritated stomach" or something. Whatever. I tip my head back all the time with nosebleeds and Dick is much more talented than I am so I'm sure he's fine. But, uh, maybe don't try this at home?


	10. Chapter 10

It was cold enough now at night that Dick had to wear a coat when he went wandering up to the rooftop. He resented that. It made him bulky and clumsy. He did it anyway. He felt bad enough already and he didn't want to top it with a cold, or something worse like whatever he'd had the day he met Todd.

Dick pulled out his phone, not for the first time that evening. It had taken a herculean effort of will not to text Todd again since he had that afternoon, but pushing would be exactly the wrong move in this case. Still, it had been hours. Maybe just one more.

_If it's about your night job,_ he started, but then paused, not sure how to finish. He paced back and forth a few times, wishing he had someone to consult about this kind of thing. Laine didn't count. She'd tell him to just say exactly what he meant, which was rich considering her dance with Beth, and he couldn't really explain the whole situation to her. "I think I'm dating Nightwing" sounded kind of crazy and besides, outing someone like that was bad form, he was pretty sure.

_If it was about your night job, it doesn't bother me._ There. That was good. Casual. He hit send.

Then he immediately re-read it to make sure it didn't sound like blackmail or a threat because _that_ was a thing vigilantes were probably concerned with, wasn't it?

No. Still read pretty normal. Good.

Still no response either, though.

Dick shoved his phone in his pocket and wandered to the back ledge of the roof, the one that overlooked a narrow alley that left an almost-jumpable gap between his building and the one across from it.

He stood at the edge and closed his eyes, just feeling the slight breeze lift his hair. It was cold, but it felt good. He'd had a headache all day since that random nosebleed last night. Truth to tell, he _was_ starting to get a little worried about the frequency of them.

His dreams had shifted, too. He was no longer running through hallways chasing after faceless figures. Now he was _flying_ , and as freaky as it still was – ending, always, regardless of the length of the chase, in diamond-sharp doorknobs, creepy laughter, and rooms full of red smoke – he hated to wake up. The feeling of flying was good enough that he'd put up with the rest of it.

He crouched on the ledge running around the side of the roof, fingers gripping it like he was going to launch himself off the starting line. The grimy, chilled surface brought him back to his senses and he dropped out of the crouch to sit on the ledge instead, legs dangling. He sighed and tilted his head back and pretended he was looking at stars instead of Gotham cloud cover.

"What are you afraid of?" asked a low, modulated voice.

Dick might have made a startled, strangled _guh_ noise. He'd deny it if asked, though. What he did do was scramble to his feet, putting some space between himself and the edge of the roof before he turned to look for the speaker.

Red Hood was standing on the roof of the next-door building, which was a few feet taller than Dick's roof and abutted his building directly.

"Red Hood," Dick said. He blinked a few times, kind of expecting him to vanish. Instead, he dropped easily onto Dick's roof and moved closer. Dick held his ground. It was _his_ roof, dammit. "Am I in your way?"

"Just taking in the sights," Red Hood said. He nodded his helmeted head toward the gap. "You looked like you wanted to jump it."

Dick looked back over to the alley briefly, then flicked his eyes back to Hood. "I wasn't really thinking about it."

"Bullshit."

"What kind of crazy person goes leaping between— oh. Uh, never mind."

The hiss that came through Red Hood's voice modulator might have been a laugh, and feeling bold, Dick took a different sort of leap.

"Hey. Do you know Nightwing?"

Red Hood froze. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Of course I know him. We're in the same business."

"Like, the beating each other up kind of know?"

"Not for a while. Not seriously," Red Hood said.  "Interesting line of questioning here, Dickiebird."

It was Dick's turn to be taken aback. "You— you know me."

"Saved your ass from a mugger, didn't I?"

"I don't recall exchanging information."

"There's a lot you don't recall. What do you want to know about Nightwing?" Red Hood put his hands in the pockets of his own jacket, an unremarkable brown leather thing. Dick wondered if that was by design, and whether it was much more than it seemed.

"Nothing," Dick said, suddenly realizing that this had been a stupid conversation to get into. "Never mind. I'm from Bludhaven. I was curious, and since you were here and all…"

"That sounds like a lie."

"What are you gonna do, shoot me?"

"Don't you think you should be a little more scared of me than you are?" Red Hood asked, his voice low and urgent.

Dick crossed his arms. "You tell me."

"All right," Red Hood said. He moved a little to the side. Dick turned just slightly to keep him in his vision, but when he realized that Red Hood was circling him, he stopped, refusing to play that game. If Red Hood intended to beat him up, or murder him, or whatever, there was nothing he could do to stop it, anyway. "I'll tell you that Nightwing's not in Bludhaven right now. Hasn't been for over a month. I'll tell you no one else has heard from him, either. Not since he went tracking a rash of diamond thefts and found the Mad Hatter at the end of it."

"What...?" Dick said. Red Hood was directly behind him now. "Are you saying no one knows where he is? That he's missing?" He began to turn to face Red Hood, but there was a sudden motion, a fist flying at him. Dick didn't think; he blocked, spun, and ducked under Red Hood's arm so it flew over his shoulder. Dick grabbed the arm and snapped his weight forward, tossing Red Hood over himself and flat onto his back.

Red Hood didn't stay there. He rolled to his feet instantly, coming up in a crouch – which he then immediately relaxed into a casual posture while Dick was still standing and staring.

"Not missing," Red Hood said, picking up their conversation as though nothing had happened. "I know exactly where he is."

"I— you attacked me!"

"If I'd attacked you, you'd be bleeding. Just giving you some food for thought, Dickie."

"Is that some kind of threat, or— look, if this is about Nightwing, I really was just curious. I don't know him. You can't get to him through me."

Red Hood snorted. With the helmet, it sounded a little like a cat sneezing. "We'll see." He turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Dick – don't be afraid to take a leap."

"I'm not… afraid…" The last word trailed off as Dick's head suddenly gave a pulse of pain. He felt like someone had just tightened a vise at his temples and he put his hands to his head with an audible wince.

"Dickie?" Red Hood's voice was distant, echo-y.

"Fear," Dick said. He pressed his fingers into his forehead. "It's…" He blinked rapidly and looked up to find Red Hood much closer than he'd been, hands hovering as though he was going to have to catch Dick. "What's the Scarecrow up to these days?" Dick asked.

"What? Dick, are you—"

Dick batted away an outstretched hand inching dangerously close to supportive. "Answer the question."

"He's in Arkham," Red Hood snapped. "Locked up tight."

"Yeah," Dick said. "Yes. That's right. I must have—" A full-body shiver took him.

"You need to get inside. Get out of the cold and lie down," Red Hood said.

"So you do care," Dick said with a little half grin. Then he shook his head. Dumb thing to say. Dumb thing to do, standing on a roof talking to a vigilante. One who wasn't Nightwing.

Dick started and realized he'd been backing away from Red Hood until he fetched up against the access door. He fumbled behind his back slightly before finding the handle and practically fell through it into the stairwell, pelting down the steps until he reached his own apartment.

Once he was inside he slammed and locked his door behind him and pressed his back against it, feeling extraordinarily foolish. As though Red Hood couldn't just follow him down here and kick the door in.

He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and opened his conversation with Todd.

_I think Red Hood just threatened me_ , he sent. He was overheated, the outdoor coat much too warm now that he was inside. He yanked his arms out of it, shoved it off his shoulders and onto the floor. Then he sat there, back against the door, shaking so hard he couldn't think, wondering if he should put it back on but not having quite the presence of mind to make his arms do the work. Gradually, he became aware that enough time had passed that Red Hood probably wasn't following him with murderous intent.

He checked his phone. Still no response.

_I don't think I'm handling it well_ , he texted. Well, if that didn't bring his hero running, nothing would. He dropped the phone on the floor and buried his head in his knees. Something was wrong with this scenario, with his reaction to it, but he couldn't for the life of him put his finger on it. He tried to play back the encounter he'd just had, but his brain kept stuttering over it like a needle over a scratch in a record, his own wide-eyed face reflected and distorted in the curve of Red Hood's helmet.

Red. Like the smoke in his dreams. Those dreams that definitely weren't normal, that had started after he'd met Todd. Was he being dragged into some kind of vigilante drama? _Wait until your first Arkham break_ , Laine had warned him when he'd first moved here, and he'd laughed. Was this the sort of thing that just happened in Gotham?

The record that was his brain was spinning faster and faster, scratches and worn-in grooves be damned. He felt dizzy with it. He wanted sleep, oblivion, or even the strange ordered horror of his dreams – at least he knew what to expect there. He made a lurching motion forward and ended up crawling across the floor. The bedroom was out of reach; he made it to the couch, dragged himself to the cushions, and blacked out.

 

Jason had turned off the com link in his helmet as soon as he'd approached Dick's apartment building and saw Dick out there. Red Hood had been on his way back to one of his boltholes after his encounter with Gordon and an uneventful patrol, but this had been a perfect opportunity. Time to rip off some band-aids.

By now, of course, with Dick having retreated inside and Jason watching his windows and cameras from a nearby vantage, Oracle had over-ridden his overrides and was squawking in his ear urgently.

"— _what_ you've just done. Why the _fuck_ would you—"

Jason pulled the helmet off and let it thunk to the rooftop next to him. He could still hear Oracle's pissed off, frantic chatter but it was distant enough to ignore. He pulled out his phone – Red Hood's, not Todd's which was still turned off and abandoned back at the last safehouse he'd stayed at – and used that instead of the helmet's HUD to watch the cameras.

This was the right thing to do. Everything he and Damian had observed pointed to this, to Dick being able to handle more than J'onn J'onzz and Batman thought he could. That, or it pointed to Jason being selfish and cruel, which… he wasn't ruling out. But Damian had wanted him to do this too, even if he had been typically shitty about it, and while Damian could also be selfish and cruel, his selfishness aligned directly with Dick's mental health.

_He's also all of thirteen_ , Jason thought. _Way to be the responsible older brother._

But that wasn't what Red Hood was _for_. Red Hood existed to make hard calls that the other bats couldn't make. Batman might have defanged him lately, but things like this… Jason had been doing this for years. He trusted himself.

Trusted Dick.

Jason let his eyes flick to the corners of his rooftop once more. Up to the light in the sky, still bright as the night drifted on. Eventually Oracle stopped yelling at him and he put the helmet back on.

Dick slept, tossing and turning at odd intervals in a listless sort of way, like he didn't quite have the strength to turn all the way over on his narrow couch. Better, Jason thought, than the first time Dick had encountered Red Hood, when he'd been so still that Jason's sensors hadn't even picked up any motion or vibration. And no nosebleeds this time. Yet. That had to be a good thing, right? He wondered if he was feverish.

Finally, as the night was waning and Jason was having to force himself to get up and move around to avoid cramping, a heavy shadow landed on the rooftop behind him. Jason exhaled slowly and squared his shoulders.

"Hey, old man," he said, turning to face Batman and assessing rapidly. "How's Croc?" Batman looked tired, if you knew where to look, but otherwise… he did not look like he'd gone three rounds with an eight foot bipedal crocodile.

"Oracle filled me in," Batman said. His voice was flat, or as flat as Batman's voice ever got. It still sounded like it was being processed through a grist mill on the way out of his throat. Jason couldn't pick up any anger, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. He made an effort to keep himself relaxed, to be ready to move any direction depending on how this went. " _Why_ , Jason?"

Oh, 'Jason,' was it? Not a great sign. "Just doing what you won't. As usual," Jason said, wrapping the persona of Red Hood around himself like a blanket.

"Don't you think I investigated this option?" Batman said, taking a step nearer. Jason's hands stayed in his pockets. "Don't you think I asked J'onn about controlled exposure? We agreed it wasn't worth the risk."

" _You_ agreed!" Jason shot back. "You and J'onn making decisions for Dick, for all of us. That's not good enough for me."

"Why not?" Batman asked, and now he did sound frustrated. Demanding. Like it was a genuine question. "You've never shown much interest in Dick's life before. Is this… are you trying to punish me by endangering him?"

Jason almost laughed. And here he'd thought they'd come so far. "Believe it or not, this started out as an accident you narcissistic prick." He thought about throwing Damian's complicity in Batman's face but held back. If tonight went poorly, Damian might be the only chance Dick had of getting back to normal. Better if Batman didn't suspect him. Assuming Oracle hadn't already told him, anyway. "Turns out that bandage isn't as air-tight as you thought, and we owe Dick a chance to fight through this."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Batman growled. "You have gotten _lucky_ so far, playing with an innocent civilian's life—"

"You can't tell me you think Dick wouldn't go for it himself if we could ask him," Jason said, his feet carrying him closer to Batman, fists finally leaving his pockets to clench at his sides. "He's not just some civilian, you can't just— just freeze him in time like some memorial to himself!"

Batman didn't move a bit at Jason's approach. "Ah," he said.

"Don't _ah_ me, old man. Whatever you think you just inferred or deduced or whatever, forget it. This is about Dick, and how _your_ solution was killing him. If he kept going like he was he would have been dead of apathy and heartbreak in two months, tops."

"Is that worse than dying of a brain aneurysm, then?" Batman asked.

"At least he'd die _himself_ , or as close to it as possible. Believe me when I say it counts for something," Jason hissed. He was practically in Batman's face by now. If Batman took a swing, Jason wouldn't be able to block it. That was okay. The first hit didn't mean a win.

Batman's jaw clenched. "We are _not_ having this fight tonight," Batman said. "I am going to call in J'onn. We are going to fix whatever damage you've done, if we can. And you are not going near Dick again. Red Hood is grounded from duty."

Jason almost laughed. "Sure," he said instead. "I'll just run home and put away my toys and sit like a good boy until daddy says I can come out to play again. Promise."

"Drop it, Jason. Or else."

"Heard you the first time."

For a moment, Jason thought Batman really was going to make a grab for him – would it be prison? A bat-holding cell? A good old-fashioned brawl? Being physically tossed out of the city limits? – but Batman simply turned away with a swirl of cape, readying his line to swing over to Dick's building. Jason scoffed after him.

"Killer Croc," Batman said, pausing at the edge of the roof.

"What?" Jason asked, exasperated.

"He wasn't in the sewers. Never was. He's still in Arkham. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Jason frowned. "Gordon said—"

"I know what Gordon said. And I know you went to see him tonight while we were all distracted. And now this. So I'll ask again."

"No," Jason bit out. "I have no fucking clue what that's about. Sure your pet police aren't just yanking your chain?"

Batman didn't dignify that with a response, just leapt from the building and went sailing over the streets to go coddle his eldest.

Jason wasn't sure Batman believed him about Killer Croc, but he _was_ sure he didn't care one way or the other. He waited until Batman was well and truly gone, then slowly went around to the corners of the roof, to the small vents clustered off to one side, to the ladder leading down to the fire escape, and disarmed and collected the remote miniature explosives he'd planted there. He made sure the triggers in his pockets were deactivated and stowed everything securely about his person. And as he did it, his hands steady even though he could practically feel the adrenaline beating at the walls of his veins, he thought.

There was nothing else he could do for Dick. Maybe his push would be enough to shake something loose before J'onn got his hands on Dick's brain, but if it wasn't… Jason was going to be left with the moments he'd snatched with Dick trying to fix this mess, a handful of laughs and a whole lot of awkward and no closure at all.

He could attempt to waylay J'onn, put a stop to this. He didn't much like his odds on short notice. Maybe with help…

No. If this was how it was going to go, then he had to fucking _let_ it go. He'd done all he could, and Damian was unwilling to do more. Jason needed to do what he should have done in the first place and start looking out for himself, keeping his nose out of anything having to do with Dick Grayson.

He wasn't going to get closure. He'd have to cope. He'd handled far worse. He'd pack up, get out of town, and let the family implode as they would.

The small _jolt_ of his grapple firing and catching made him feel better. He made a wide arc, swinging aggressively around a building and then hauling himself down a narrow street, not caring who saw. This early hardly anyone was out, but a few windows showed signs of the city waking as people got ready for dawn shifts. Jason caught snippets of daily routines unfolding: the smell of eggs cooking, the rattle of hot water pipes as a shower struggled to life, a snatch of an early morning radio show.

"GCPD assures the public that the Killer Croc scare was a false alarm," a woman announced over the air. "Waylon Jones, aka Killer Croc, is secure in the Arkham Asylum penitentiary. The public is urged…"

The voice trailed into inaudibility as Jason swung out of range of the cracked window he'd heard it through. _The public is urged to remain calm_ was one of the most often heard sentences on Gotham airwaves, he'd wager, maybe only eclipsed by frequent neighborhood evacuation orders. Still, this time they had it right. Killer Croc was locked up, just like Scarecrow, and Mad Hatter.

So why did Jason keep tripping over them out here? His boots hit the brick on the side of his building with a dull thud as he hung from his line while disarming security on his window. Dick spitting out Scarecrow's name was bothering him, and he realized he was replaying the conversation Red Hood had had with Dick over and over, had been for the entire trip here.

If Dick was going to shake loose a case file, it should have been Mad Hatter, shouldn't it? Dick hadn't had anything to do with the last Scarecrow case, the one that had landed Crane in custody where he'd actually stayed put for once. The Mad Hatter case Dick had stumbled into had had some Riddler elements, sure, but not Scarecrow. Could it be as simple as Dick feeling scared and insecure and his brain making connections to Crane on well-worn paths?

Jason's thought process stalled on that thought and then backed over it a few times in an attempt to kill it dead. The idea of Dick scared, alone, and confused while something he had no hope of understanding was done to him—

A window pane cracked as Jason slammed the window shut. He was beginning to think he should've followed through on his first instinct: to pop into Arkham and shake Tetch down himself.

Well, better late than never. With all his effort on Dick's case about to be nullified by a freaking Martian mind-meld, this was as close to closure as Jason was likely to get and it would certainly beat standing by and watching while Dick was relegated to zombie-hood. And if his visit yielded nothing, well. He'd do exactly what Batman wanted and get out of town, and try to do his own forgetting.

 

Batman was home with the sun. Damian was waiting for him, standing with his arms crossed at the foot of the stairs. He watched as Batman noted his presence and then very deliberately went through his disarming and cool-down routine, not rushing in the slightest. When Bruce finally emerged from the showers clad in t-shirt and sweatpants, Damian had not moved.

"What is it, Damian?" Bruce asked. He was not above looming a little. He was, after all, very tired. And his son was very short.

"Grayson," Damian said. "I know that you have spoken with Oracle. Am I to be punished?"

Bruce dragged a hand down his face. He'd been hoping to avoid this until he'd slept at least a few hours. "We need to contain the problem first. Then we'll discuss your actions." He started up the stairs. Damian did not follow.

"Father," he said. "I want you to know that what happened tonight – I had nothing to do with it."

"Oh?" Bruce didn't stop.

"I had thought… that I was doing the right thing. I would not have so recklessly endangered him. Todd and I had agreed to back down. What he did was reprehensible."

Bruce turned on the stairs, looking back at Damian. He looked rather small, and it wasn't entirely because Bruce was literally standing above him. "Go to bed, Damian. We'll talk about this in the morning."

Damian looked like he would say something more, but instead he lowered his head. "Yes, Father," he said, and started up the stairs.

Bruce waited until he'd caught up, and then ushered him ahead gently, the two of them making the rest of the climb in silence as they had done on many occasions after a long night. Bruce walked Damian all the way to his room, where blue-tinged light was just starting to leak in around the curtains. Damian stopped in the doorway.

"Are you to keep me under watch the entire morning?" he asked.

"Considering it."

Damian huffed and continued into his room, but the door did not slam in Bruce's face. Bruce leaned against the frame while water ran in the bathroom. Eventually Damian emerged wearing his habitual black pajamas. He gave Bruce an exasperated look before climbing into bed. "At least shut the door," he said, closing his eyes and turning his back on Bruce. "Light inhibits the production of melatonin."

Bruce considered camping out in Damian's room – it wouldn't be the first time – but eventually closed the door with himself on the other side of it and left to make his own way toward sleep.

 

Damian ordered himself to wake in four hours. That would be enough time for Bruce to check on him twice more, and then to settle into the deepest part of his own sleep. His father, Damian knew, would sleep deepest when the sun was a little more firmly in the sky. When handling all-nighters and multi-day waking sprees he always had trouble settling when the time came to rest, but it was as though his subconscious didn't think anything too terrible could happen in broad daylight.

Well-trained, Damian's body did as it was bid. He woke, left his bed, dressed, and went downstairs. Duke and Cass were clearing away breakfast things. Alfred had fresh toast waiting and asked if Damian would like anything in particular. Damian declined, taking his toast out onto the patio where Titus was lounging in the sun.

"We could use some exercise, could we not?" Damian asked Titus when he'd finished his small breakfast. Titus' ears perked and he got to his feet. Damian poked his head back inside. Only Duke was around.

"Titus and I will be training on the grounds," Damian informed him.

"Uh," Duke said. "All right?"

"If anyone is looking for me."

"Sure."

Damian hesitated. "There are no orders for me to remain in the house?"

"Not your babysitter," Duke said. "And I'm running late as it is. If B wants you to stick around I'm pretty sure you'll figure it out as soon as you try to leave."

Well enough. It would seem that Oracle had told Batman and Batman only of Damian's recent collaboration with Red Hood. And Batman hadn't seen fit to pass along that information, which meant he didn't think Damian was a threat. Good.

Damian and Titus ranged out into the grounds, Damian throwing a tactical training disc in elaborate parabolas to provide the dog a challenge. It wasn't long before the wind snatched it, though, sending it sailing over a perimeter wall.

"Oops," said Damian. "How careless of me." Titus cocked his head at him as he vaulted up the side of the wall and hurled himself over, carefully calculating momentum and trajectory to clear the decorative (and sharp) iron rail at the top, and to launch himself past the pressure plates installed immediately on the other side. He hit the ground in a roll and came to his feet right next to the Frisbee.

No alarms sounded. He flicked the Frisbee back over the wall for Titus and began to sprint toward Gotham and his nearest supply cache.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Dick was trapped between solid, inky darkness and a spreading red smoke, standing on a bare patch of concrete floor in roughly two square feet of clear air. But the worst part was that he couldn't move, couldn't have flinched away into the darkness if he'd wanted to, couldn't have plunged ahead and taken his chances with the smoke to escape. His muscles were pulled tight, fighting themselves into a stalemate, cords standing out across his shoulders, thighs cramping, fists clenched.

 _Stay put_ , a voice commanded and Dick did, hating it. _Don't fight_.

Well nuts to _that_. Dick redoubled his efforts, sure he was about to burst an artery. It didn't have any apparent effect, though, and he was getting tired. Just as he thought that maybe he'd _have_ to give in this time, cool air began pouring down from above. Alarmed at how good it felt, that even the thought of surrender could bring this kind of relief, Dick threw his arms up to protect his face from whatever was happening—

And woke up to a masked kid catching his wrists and pushing his arms back down.

"Honestly, Grayson," the kid said, and Dick's vision focused.

" _Robin_?" As in, 'Batman and'? Maybe he hadn't woken up after all.

"Yes. Can you move?"

Dick raised a hand to his head and knocked off a cold, damp washcloth that had been resting on his forehead. He certainly hadn't put it there. Robin watched him watch it fall to the floor and _tsk_ 'd.

"You were feverish," Robin said. "I could not wake you."

"Robin… makes house calls?"

"We may not have much time." Robin glanced out the window. The light had taken on the orange quality of late afternoon. "It took me longer than it should have to evade Signal and Oracle." It turned out that what Duke had been running late for was Dick-watching duty, which had been stepped up considerably after what Jason had done. "Red Robin will likely be joining their watch soon. We must be away before then."

"Away? What's going on?" Dick shoved himself into a sitting position with a groan. His head felt inflated. Had he slept the entire day away? He was supposed to be at work.

"Batman is coming to meddle with the recovery of your mind. I have simply beaten him to it. Unless you wish to live the rest of your days being a mediocre bookseller and ignoring your true self, you will come with me now." Robin glanced around the room and located Dick's shoes. He plucked them up and thrust them into Dick's lap.

"Mediocre?" Dick protested. He put the shoes on without argument, though.

"Are you a parrot or a person?" Damian snapped. "Up!" He grasped Dick's arm and pulled him to his feet. The room swam and Dick took a stumbling step forward. Robin reached out to support him but he was surprisingly short for a vigilante.

"Wait a second, how old are you, anyway?"

"Thirteen. We'll go out the window."

"I feel like someone should call Batman out on that. You're a kid."

"You will be able to do that yourself if all goes well tonight. Oh for _pity's sake_." This last because Dick had lurched over to the window under Robin's prodding, opened it, leaned just slightly out, and collapsed against the frame.

"I'm not— am I actually awake right now?" Dick mumbled, running the back of his hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat gathering there.

Robin came up beside him, braced one foot on the windowsill, and wrapped an arm around Dick's waist. "Hang on to me."

"What are you doing?" Dick asked, frowning at him.

"I am doing what Todd should have done."

"Todd? You— of course you know him. Is he okay?"

Robin had been readying his grapple, but paused. "Him? Of course he is okay. It is you everyone is worried about."

"Because of Red Hood?"

Robin sighed in exasperation. "For the most part. Now hang on. Tighter, or you will fall two storeys and a bit of amnesia will be the least of your issues."

"That's the second time you've mentioned— whoa!"

Robin tipped them out of the window. Dick's weight was a challenge, but it wasn't the first time he'd had to move someone larger than himself. At least Dick wasn't comatose and now that they were actually out of the window he was hanging on with a much better grip. Luckily, Robin was not trying to pull them _up_. Red Robin would be coming by way of rooftops, so Robin only needed to lower them down to the alley and then to a nearby tunnel access point, carefully chosen because they could reach it by a route that avoided any cameras. Signal was covering the outside of the building on his own until sundown, but he couldn't see everywhere at once and it wasn't like he could just circle the block constantly. They didn't want to draw that kind of attention to Dick, which gave Damian a small gap to work with. Couple that with the fact that they were all expecting _Jason_ to be the one to try something if anyone did, and Damian might just pull this off.

"Stay here," Robin commanded when he and Dick were on solid ground. He shot up the side of the building, reached back into Dick's apartment to twitch the curtains closed, shut the window, and was down at ground level again before Dick had finished collapsing against the grimy wall of the alley. He'd looped Jason's cameras before entering the apartment, a ruse that definitely wouldn't work for long in the face of the increased attention on Dick, but it would be enough to get them away.

He hoped. Dick was in terrible condition.

"Todd should have removed you to a safe location to recover," Robin said critically. He took Dick by the arm and pulled him in the appropriate direction, supporting him as much as possible. "He is not normally one for half measures, but when it comes to you he does not think clearly."

"You sound… so familiar," Dick murmured. He was shivering and Robin realized abruptly that he'd dragged him from his apartment without regard to the cold. Foolish. He flicked off his cape and draped it around Dick's shoulders. It looked somewhat ridiculous, being a completely inappropriate length and filled out awkwardly by the span of Dick's shoulders, but it was heavy and warm and Robin's armor would do enough to keep the chilly night at bay without it.

Dick frowned down at him as Robin clasped the cape across his chest. "Thanks," he said. His fingers ran down the edge of the cape. "This is—"

"Think about it when we are out of sight," Robin said, pulling Dick forward once more. He found the manhole cover he needed and then realized Dick would have to negotiate a ladder. "I will go first. Follow me, Grayson. I will catch you should you fall."

Dick gave the opening a dubious look, but nodded. "I trust you, Damian."

Robin's head came around so rapidly his vision blurred. Dick sank to his knees on the asphalt beside the manhole, the heel of his hand pressed to his forehead.

"Sorry," he said. "You just sound like… you look like… God, my head hurts."

"It will pass." Robin had to force the words out. "We must get under cover." He did not add that the bolthole they would be heading to – one he was almost certain Batman was unaware of – was at least a mile away by tunnel. Normally a mile or two would have been nothing to them. In this case, Robin wasn't certain Dick would make it three feet.

Dick had one hand braced on the ground, hunched forward with his eyes squeezed shut, Robin's cape turning him into a ragged lump of shadow. Never mind three feet, Dick wasn't making it down the ladder. Not on his own.

One eye on the rooftops, Robin let out one of his lines and wrapped it around Dick's chest under his arms. Dick let him, barely seeming aware of what Robin was doing. Then Robin dragged him the last few inches to the manhole and, bracing himself carefully, lowered Dick down into the service tunnel. When he made it to the walkway at the bottom, Robin hopped onto the ladder, dragged the cover back in place, and slid the rest of the way down to re-coil his line and check on him.

Dick had managed to shove himself to the wall and was leaning against it, legs splayed in front of him and head tipped back, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

"Grayson," Robin said, crouching beside him and touching his shoulder. Dick's head lolled in his direction and he forced his eyes open.

"I'm here," Dick said. He blinked ponderously. "Why am I here? Where's here?"

"Subway maintenance and access tunnels under Gotham. They also connect to the sewers, disused and incomplete rail lines… it does not matter," Robin said. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah. Give me a minute," Dick said, eyes closing again.

Robin bit his lip. Doubt gnawed at him. "Gray— Richard," he said. "Tell me. If you found out you had lost your memory, all knowledge of friends, family, certain abilities, much of your life… and if you had a chance to get it back, at the risk of falling into a permanent coma, would you do it?"

"I don't— I just want to sleep. Let me sleep," Dick murmured.

"It's important, Richard. For me. Please."

Dick's forehead creased as his eyes squeezed more tightly shut. Every word seemed an effort. "Don't know. Depends. On my life without the memories. And, if I know. That I've lost something."

"Your life is exactly as it is now. Passable. Not… not a bad life. Average." Robin reached out and gently pressed two fingers to Dick's temple. "But this. I think you do know something is missing, but the pain you are feeling is the price to find it. It may get worse. I— there is someone who could take it away. You could go back to the life you were living, without any more pain."

Dick's eyes opened and he took Robin's hand, moving it away from his face. "Are you saying this is for real? That I've… there's something I've forgotten?"

"If you remember, it may send you into a coma."

Dick hadn't let go of Robin's hand. "Is it important? What I've lost?"

"Very. But." Robin sighed and looked away. "You are important as well. To many people. I fear… I may have made a mistake. Coming to you like this."

"You're one of the people I've forgotten," Dick said. "I knew Robin?"

"It is complicated."

"I want to know."

"Are you certain?" Robin demanded intently. It was what he'd wanted to hear, wanted so badly he didn't trust himself.

"It's just pain," Dick said with a tiny little smile that was more than half a wince. "What's life without a little risk?"

Robin huffed out a small laugh. "That is the most _you_ thing I have heard you say in months. Very well. We will proceed. I've prepared a place for your recovery; let us make it there before I tell you anything more. Once we are safe we should not have to rush." Batman loomed in his mind, the World's Greatest Detective hunting for his oldest son. "Much," Robin amended.

Dick nodded, but immediately regretted it. "Okay," he said. "Guess we'd better get moving, then." He used the wall to pull himself to his feet and they set off at a tortuously slow pace.

Robin kept a careful eye on Dick as they went; the maintenance tunnels were not really designed for cross-city travel, nor for someone who could barely keep their feet. They had to cross over old and forgotten tracks once, make it through a hatch set into a wall and drop out the other side into a tunnel with no light, and detour around a collapsed portion of what the city had intended at one point to make an extended transit line.

Dick was doing remarkably well with the occasional support from Robin, but Robin was not terribly surprised when he finally stumbled to a halt and braced a hand against the wall at a point where two tunnels branched off, seemingly unable to go on.

"Richard, we are close. Another fifteen minutes at our pace, perhaps."

"No, this— I know this," Dick said, and Robin realized he wasn't bracing himself against the wall; he was tracing the pipework there, old copper snaking around even older lead. "It's important," he murmured.

Robin scrutinized the piping. It led off down the opposite tunnel from the one they were meant to take to get to the safehouse. The lead pipes were fatter than the copper; standard steam and water pipes, if Robin had to guess, plus a modern plastic one closer to the ceiling for fiber optics or cable.

Dick was wandering down the tunnel, tracing the pipes with his hand. "Wait," Robin said. "That is the wrong direction."

"I followed these. I found… something." He frowned, pausing to press fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to push the memory into his head.

"You are in no condition to—"

The distorted crack of a gunshot echoed down the tunnel to them, followed by a shout of pain. Dick's eyes widened and he was taking off down the tunnel as though he'd never experienced a headache in his life.

"Grayson!" Robin shouted, jerking into a run himself. But Dick didn't pause, didn't slow, and his legs were much longer than Robin's. The jagged edges of the cape flared behind him, just out of Robin's reach as he pelted after Dick into the darkness and further from safety.

 

Jason Todd had four basic plans for breaking into Arkham Asylum (he did not count the one that essentially went "Nuke from above, sweep up the rubble" because it lacked enough detail to truly be a plan). Each plan had multiple branches, some intersecting, depending on all the possible things that could happen over the course of their execution, but basically, there were four.

Tonight, he was going with plan number three, which involved impersonating custodial staff. He'd had entry and exit routes planned for some time, though of course he checked on their viability regularly to keep the plans up to date, as well as a digital door into the staff rosters and scheduling software where he could insert his pre-made persona when it was needed. His jumpsuit was a perfect replica of the ones used by the Arkham maintenance crew down to the type of stitch used at the seams and updated last month when Arkham had switched suppliers so the logo was now on the left sleeve rather than the chest. His badge showed similar attention to detail. He'd memorized tonight's guard and rotation: names, faces, routes, and shifts.

He didn't need any of it.

What Jason found when he broke into Arkham that night was an entire facility full of staff who did not give a shit. Doctors kept to their offices. Guards leaned against walls, eyes glued to their phones. Yet, there was no chaos. If the staff of Arkham were keeping their heads down – literally, it seemed – the occupants were as well. Arkham was eerily quiet, but the inmates _were_ in their cells. Was this just what happened when things were going well?

Snagging a custodial cart was no problem. Jason pushed it past the corridor that led to the maximum security holding area with only a quick glance, reminding himself that that wasn't what he was here for. Tetch was a medium-security type of detainee; pretty harmless without his gadgets. Jason knew just where to find him.

Or, he should have. Tetch's cell was empty.

Jason glared through the door at the blank walls and demonstrably vacant room before pulling out his phone and checking schedules and room assignments one more time, just in case. Tetch _was_ supposed to be here. He didn't have any therapy sessions, doctor appointments, lawyer visits, or recreation time scheduled; he hadn't been transferred; and he wasn't reported missing.

Jason put his phone away and noticed his hand was shaking. He frowned at it. He didn't feel particularly nervous or angry but he'd learned a long time ago not to ignore his body's reactions; it sometimes picked up on things or warned him about issues before his brain was entirely with the program.

"Hey. Don't think janitors are supposed to be doing that," hissed a voice from behind him. Jason turned slowly. The cell across from Tetch's belonged to one Charles Brown. Kite Man. Great. He was peering out through the window in his door. "You're new."

"Yeah," Jason said. "Got a call to clean up in here, but." He gestured at the cell. "Looks clean. Doesn't look like anyone's been in here for a while, actually."

Brown grinned. Or, he probably grinned. Jason could only see his eyes crinkle. "You want the basement, new guy. Sub-basement. Second floor down, I mean."

"Do I."

"Hell yeah. Tell 'em Kite Man sent you."

"…sure," Jason said. He turned away and pushed his cart down the hall – in the opposite direction from the stairs and elevator. He thought he heard Brown grumble disappointedly behind him.

As he wheeled cleaning supplies through the wing, Jason took casual glances into the cells he passed. Most of them had their viewing windows open. The ones that didn't, he opened and checked on. Only one other person in medium security was missing from where he ought to be: the Riddler.

"The Riddler and the Hatter. Wonderful," Jason muttered. It did not escape him that the designs for the crown Tetch had used to break Dick's brain had been developed from a concept for one of the Riddler's elaborate puzzle traps.

Well, at least he knew where they probably were.

"Second floor down, huh," he mused to himself, rounding the corner and coming to the elevator bank the long way around. He considered it, then the door to the stairwell, and in the end opted for air vents. No sense in walking straight into a trap when you could sneak into it, especially when whoever had designed Arkham had made it pretty vigilante-friendly. Jason ditched the coveralls, retrieved his heavier equipment (including the helmet) from the cart he was about to abandon, and was squirreled away in the nearest vent in seconds.

 

In retrospect, Jason probably should have figured they'd have the vents bugged, given the Bats' proclivity for scuttling about in them. On the bright side, he had a little warning before a short blade came stabbing into the ductwork because the Riddler simply could not help himself.

"What's red and black and _full of holes_ ," he crooned and Jason had just enough time to curl himself forward as the blade hidden in the end of Riddler's question mark staff punched through the duct he was hiding in. He kicked out the grate and burst into the room, a .45 in either hand, one trained on Tetch and the other on Nygma.

"That wasn't even clever," he informed the Riddler. They were in a small room that looked like it had once been simply housing for boilers and HVAC equipment but was now a makeshift laboratory. Jason's back was to a narrow gap in the wall that looked rather homemade; someone had clearly broken through to connect this room to a dark, dank brick-walled hallway. The tangle of pipes and ductwork Jason had tumbled out of crawled away into the darkness down it.

"My apologies," said the Riddler, twirling his cane casually. Tetch had frozen over a work bench, eyes shifting rapidly between Jason and the Riddler. "How's this, then: _Never calm and not relaxed, one of a murder to frighten bats_. I'll give you a hint—"

But Jason didn't need it. His eyes were already widening, he was already turning, too late; Scarecrow reached through the gap in the wall where he'd been lurking in the shadows of the tunnel, syringe plunging toward Jason's neck where it might find entry between the seal of his helmet and the collar of his suit.

"—he's outstanding in his field. And right behind you," Riddler cackled.

Jason was fast, though. He batted Scarecrow's needle away and fired at one of his spindly legs. But Riddler had come up behind Jason and cracked him across the head with his cane. The helmet protected his head, but his shot went wide and Jason had to duck Scarecrow's next stab attempt, going all the way to the ground and sweeping his leg around. Scarecrow went down, but Riddler hopped the sweep easily. That was okay; Jason was already recovering and bulled directly into him with one shoulder. At least he was fighting a roomful of twiggy villains. In close quarters like this, he could—

A sudden _thrum_ , low enough that Jason felt it in his chest and his back teeth, rippled through the room and Jason's mind went staticky for half a second. He shook his head to clear it and found Riddler hunched over, clutching his head and swearing at Tetch, who was holding some kind of device that looked like an ancient cell phone.

Scarecrow chose that moment to tackle Jason around the knees and they both went down in a heap, Jason landing on his back with Crane hugging his legs. Jason snarled and brought his gun around. Instinct demanded he shoot Scarecrow in the head – it was an easy target, the only thing available to hit from this angle. He swore internally and twisted his hips instead, scissoring his legs and kicking Scarecrow off of him. In one movement he jammed one of his guns back in its holster, shoved himself to standing, and pulled a batarang to send after whatever Tetch was holding.

"Damn it, Hatter," Riddler was yelling from the ground. "What did I _tell_ you about targeted waves?"

"Nobody asked _your_ opinion," sniffed the Hatter just as the batarang hit his hand. He yelped and Jason turned his attention to Scarecrow just in time for Crane to lunge at him with a sickle.

Jason lurched backward in a sloppy dodge. The sickle caught him in the thigh and tore through the armor. The cut was deeper than Jason would have liked, but not as bad as it could have been. The bright, hot line of pain that burst under it said it wasn't negligible either, though.

The Riddler jumped onto his back from behind and pulled his cane across Jason's throat, holding it at either end and hauling back to cut off his airway. Jason threw himself onto his back and Nygma made a satisfying _oof_ sound as the air was crushed from him. His grip on the cane loosened and Jason stole it from him, whipping it around to take Scarecrow in the stomach. Another satisfying sound.

Jason leapt the workbench and plucked Tetch up by his oversized bowtie, holding him off the ground.

"I'm here to talk about Nightwing," he growled.

"What? Really? Not the sig—ACK!" Jason spun and hurled Tetch into Scarecrow, who'd been going for Jason with a needle again. Scarecrow and Tetch tumbled back into Riddler and all three of them collapsed in a tangle.

"All right. One of you has the answers I need. First to talk gets to keep their kidney functions," Jason said, giving the Riddler's cane an experimental swing. He took a step toward the pile of supervillains… and faltered, his knees suddenly going weak. "What…?" he wondered. Then he looked down at the open wound on his thigh, at the Scarecrow's blade that _of course_ had been poisoned. At the three supervillains now standing between him and the exit. "Oh, you utter _bastard_ ," he growled.

"Now, Red Hood. Just relax. I want to take notes on how you react to this particular blend," Scarecrow said, dusting himself off.

"I've got a note for you," Jason said. He leveled a gun at Scarecrow's head.

"One gun, three targets," Riddler said. "I like that math."

Jason squeezed the trigger, flung the cane, and kicked the workbench all before any of the villains could react. The bullet hit Scarecrow in the shoulder, the cane hit Riddler in the forehead, and the workbench hit both Hatter and Scarecrow in the legs. Jason vaulted over all of them and burst through the broken wall, widening the opening inadvertently, ignoring the pain in his leg, ignoring the fact that moving this quickly would only distribute whatever toxin he'd been given even more quickly. He just needed enough distance that he could hide, assess, and, depending on his symptoms, hopefully administer one of the antidotes he kept on him.

Then fire blossomed in his shoulder and he cried out, more in surprise than in pain. The pain came a second later, but he didn't stop running. One of those bastards had thrown his own batarang back at him and it had taken him right in the meat of his shoulder blade. He wished he hadn't engineered these things to break even bat-armor but, well, here he was. It was sticking out of him, he could feel it, but he didn’t dare pull it out without knowing how deep it was and he definitely wasn't pausing. He could hear footsteps behind him as he flung himself around a corner.

This hallway was becoming less and less of a hallway and more of a tunnel. He thought he recognized the brickwork; it probably connected up to the network of tunnels under Gotham and that was definitely a security risk Batman would be hearing about – or, not Batman. Someone he was still on speaking terms with. Oracle. Babs. Yeah, he'd tell her…

His thoughts were wandering even as his body kept going. But he could feel himself weakening. And he thought he heard footsteps in front of him now, too, and wouldn't that be just perfect: running into even more villains beneath the city and making a lovely doped Red Hood sandwich between them.

He rounded another corner and ran smack into—

"Dick? _Robin_?"

"Red Hood?" Dick had basically bounced off of his chest and now had one hand braced on the wall, breathing like he'd just sprinted a marathon.

Jason thought he might be hallucinating – he'd been drugged, after all – because what the hell would Dick and Robin be doing in the tunnels? And why was Dick wearing Robin's cape?

"Don't just stare, Hood, make yourself useful. We are taking Dick to a safehouse to recover without interference," Damian ordered.

Oh. _Oh_. That was a good idea. But… oh. Bad.

"Scarecrow," Jason spat. He was having difficulty ordering his thoughts. "Coming. Right behind me."

"You're hurt," Dick said, suddenly alarmed. Robin was quicker on the uptake, was already grabbing Dick's arm and attempting to pull him back the way they'd come. But Dick was out of stamina, stumbling over himself and Robin. Robin swore quietly.

"Hood. You take him. I… I cannot carry him. I will hold off Scarecrow."

"Hatter. And Riddler," Jason said, grabbing Dick's arm and pulling him upright. "I softened them up for you." He went to haul Dick into a fireman's carry but winced when Dick's arm brushed against the batarang still sticking out of his shoulder. "Shit. Can you pull that out?"

"This is stupid! You're way too hurt to be doing this," Dick said. "Let go of me, I can walk."

"Walking won't get you far," the Riddler said, stepping around the corner, to all appearances unconcerned. "What's this?" he wondered, eyeing Dick. "A new bat of some kind?"

"Holy shit," Dick said.

"Doesn't matter," said Tetch, catching up. "We’re all mad here. Or, we're about to be." He grinned, and then Scarecrow came around the corner and dropped a gas canister.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, next weekend's update will be posted Sunday evening (Central Time) since I'll be traveling. Again. Still. ~~I am so tired why did I schedule so many Things~~

This time when Dick plunged down the twisting stairway after the almost-familiar man, a billow of red smoke erupted to meet him. He threw himself back, coughing, tears streaming from his eyes as he tried to stumble out of the cloud. But it was endless. It smelled like a bonfire and burning popcorn and just like that he was back in Haly's main tent, watching a rope snap and two people fall.

"No," he breathed, lunging for them. But the center ring had turned into a gaping pit and Dick tumbled into it. The falling forms of his parents twisted and warped into bats and fluttered away, beating his face with their wings as they passed. From below, more acrid smoke wafted upward, reaching for him.

In an instant he'd plunged through it, still falling as it slid tendrils into his nose and throat, filled his vision. He thrashed, though there was nothing to grab hold of, no way to stop his fall. In the shadows of the smoke around him he thought he saw dark figures – cloaked and cowled, all turning away from him, navigating the murky fog with apparent ease.

And then he saw the bottom of the pit: two eye-holes and a gaping maw torn in what looked like an enormous stretch of sackcloth, and pure darkness beneath it waiting to swallow him whole. There was nothing he could do but fall—

Until a hand clasped around his wrist and yanked, abruptly halting his descent.

"Here," someone said. Dick felt himself tugged upward, the grip on his wrist sure and strong. "You need to stop going down. Get the answers up here first."

And just like that he was pulled over the edge of a roof, high above Gotham's streets. His rescuer hauled him all the way up, letting him get his feet under him. A cool breeze touched Dick's face, clearing away the sting of the smoke. He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and turned to look at the man who had now taken him by the arm, making sure he was steady.

Dark hair, a mask, a blue bird splashed across a well-muscled chest. Dick blinked and looked around. He and Nightwing were on a Gotham rooftop, city lights glimmering around them. Nightwing's grip on Dick's arm lightened, though his hand stayed in place, like he thought Dick might fly away without it. He was watching Dick with a small smile on his face. A smile Dick recognized.

"You came back," Dick said, moving closer to him. He reached out a hand toward Nightwing's face, then hesitated. Nightwing inclined his head slightly.

"Go ahead," he said.

Dick grasped the edge of the mask and gave a gentle tug. It came away easily and Todd grinned at him. Dick traced a thumb over his cheekbone. "I'm glad you didn't run away this time."

"No more running," Todd said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Dick breathed, tipping his face toward Todd's. But Todd was turning away. His hand slid down from where it had rested on Dick's arm until his hand caught on Dick's. He pulled him over to the edge of the roof.

"We caught wind of this one by coincidence," Todd was saying, peering over the edge of the roof. Across the street below was a well-lit jewelry store. Dick could clearly see the glitter of gems and precious metals through the large picture window at the front.

"We?" he asked

Todd gave him a look. "Do you want to know or not?"

"I do," Dick said, more firmly than he'd intended. He didn't know what Todd wanted to tell him but he did know, beyond any doubt, that it was information he needed.

"These robberies were all carried out by employees. They'd been happening for a little while in Gotham, but on a small enough scale that it didn't draw any focused attention. Then one happened in Bludhaven, an employee who'd just transferred from a Gotham outlet to the Bludhaven satellite store." Todd glanced at him. "And we noticed—"

"—her hair," Dick said. "She'd dyed it blonde. Recently. And she was wearing a headband."

Todd nodded, pleased. "Just a hunch," he said. "But easy enough to look into. The headband had tech in it. So off we fly to Gotham."

Dick shook his head. The buildings around them wavered like heat mirages, and for a second Dick thought he heard a low, menacing laughter. "It was summer. The city was… so angry."

"Humming like a hive of bees about to swarm," Todd agreed. "Felt wrong. The others were dealing with random outbreaks of violence, tension—"

"—so we decided to take care of this on our own. No big deal," Dick said. He wiped sweat from his forehead. Below, the jewelry store employees looked bored. There were only two of them, a man and a woman. No customers.

"We found a lot of employees with the headband – so many it seemed to have started a fashion trend, so a lot of them were actually not victims at all. But even the ones wearing Hatter tech didn't seem to be doing anything unusual. We couldn't figure out how he was activating them," Todd said. "So we're watching a lot of different candidates. This one panned out."

The woman's phone rang and she stepped outside to take the call. As soon as she put the phone to her ear, the expression slid off her face. She nodded once, pocketed the phone, and went back inside.

Her co-worker said something to her and she laughed. He turned to look at something on the computer and she picked up a fire extinguisher from under the counter and whacked him across the back of the head with it. Then she opened the safe, scooped a few handfuls of diamonds into a bag, and walked out the back door.

The mask in Dick's hand gave a small _ping._

"Of course we planted trackers among the diamonds of all the stores we've been watching. Looks like she scooped up the bait," Todd said. Dick held the mask out to him, but he shook his head. "You put it on. Tell me what you see."

Dick looked at him dubiously, but held the mask up to his face. To his surprise, it fit over his eyes and nose perfectly and stuck there when he took his hands away.

"Looks like she's on foot for now. Heading east."

"And we…?"

"Followed her," Dick whispered. Todd nodded and stood, pulling Dick up by the hand. He tugged him tight against his side, shifting his grip to his waist, a grapnel already in his other hand. Dick threw his arms around him at the first jerk of takeoff.

They soared through the air and landed on a ledge a few buildings away. Todd placed a call to an ambulance for the woman's unconscious co-worker. Below, a blonde head bobbed through small, sparse crowds. Todd casually flicked a tiny button tracker through the air. It landed unerringly on the shoulder of her blouse. Then he took hold of Dick again and they were off.

Sailing across the skyline of Gotham was amazing – and, truthfully, clinging to Todd wasn't too bad either – but Dick found himself wanting to take the line in his own hands, to soar freely with him rather than clutched under his arm like a parcel.

Finally, the woman reached a certain building – nothing special about it as far as Dick could tell – and entered.

"Is that where he's hiding?" he wondered aloud.

"Let's go find out, shall we?" Todd put an arm around Dick's waist, but Dick pushed him away and held out his hand for the grapnel instead. Todd grinned at him and handed it over.

Dick swung down to the roof, rolling off his excess momentum, and had a pick in the roof door's lock before he could wonder where it had come from. He blinked at the tools in his hands – his black-gloved hands. The door clicked open.

"Not bad," Todd said. Dick looked up at him. The bird on his chest had become more angular, more stylized. And red. "What next?"

Dick slipped the lock picks into his utility belt. "Diamond tracker's vanished – happens sometimes in these old buildings, they're built like bomb shelters. But I'm still getting the one we tagged the thief with and that one says she's not moving. So let's find out where she stopped."

The woman had stopped, it turned out, in her own apartment. When they realized where she was, they entered a vacant apartment and climbed out the window to scale the wall over to her place. The woman had gone to sleep. They broke in and searched the place, but there were no diamonds to be found.

"She must have handed them off somewhere in the building," Dick said. "There could be access tunnels that would also block the signal, or maybe they found the tracker. Stupid. Should have kept my eyes on her."

"But the diamonds don't really matter," Todd said. "It's Hatter we're after. And we know how he contacted her."

"The phone," Dick said. It was the simplest thing to steal it off of her nightstand and slip back out of the building.

"I'll spare you the cryptography," Todd said when they were back on the roof. He took the phone from Dick's hands and passed his own gloved fingers over its face. Dick noticed that his costume was a little less spandex, a little more body armor now. "We figured out which tower the signal came from, but—"

"—but there was something weird about it. I know what bouncing a signal looks like, though, and this was just different enough—"

"—just like the MO is different enough from Hatter's usual—"

"—that I wanted to see for myself."

Just like that, the scene around them changed and they were on a different roof, one ringed round by barbed wire-topped fencing. This was one of the buildings in Gotham that housed a cell phone tower; the phone companies paid the building owners rent to house them securely. Not really an issue for Nightwing, though.

Dick watched Todd kneel next to one of the supports, hand hovering over a small black box securely fastened to it, a wire snaking up the leg into the array at the top. "What _is_ this?" Todd wondered.

"A piggyback," Dick said. He crouched next to Todd and pulled a metal file from his belt. He jammed it into a seam in the box and pried it apart. Inside was a circuit board with a tiny antenna. A transmitter. "They're embedding something in the signal. It's broadcasting… everywhere. To all phones. Or any that get signal from this tower – though," he thought for a moment. "We checked a lot of towers after finding this one. There were boxes on every one."

"Anyone could be activated," Todd said.

Dick shook his head. "No. It's doing _something_ , but not that, or the headbands wouldn't be necessary. It could just be blanketing signal hoping to catch someone wearing a headband, but… We're missing something."

Todd grinned at him. "Well, we could always—"

"—ask him," Dick finished with a nod.

"Let's go find our other tracker."

They went back to the thief's apartment building which was, by now, surrounded by a great many flashing lights. Dick and Todd evaded them without trouble, letting themselves in a small basement window. Dick didn't think Todd's larger frame would fit through, but he managed it somehow. They found the furnace room with a barred and locked door in the back leading to an electrical access tunnel.

Dick paused at the entrance. "Down," he said.

"You all right?"

"I'm not sure." Dick ran his hand over the brick of the wall. He could swear he heard a low moaning coming from the darkness ahead of them, and the ground seemed to waver. "I shouldn't go down."

Todd moved in front of Dick, blocking his view of the dark tunnel. The leather of the jacket he was now wearing creaked when he crossed his arms. "We can skip to the end. If you want," he offered.

"No," Dick said. "No, I have to go _through_ it. No shortcuts. I need to see."

Todd nodded and turned, leading the way down the tunnel. Dick followed, keeping one hand on the wall, tracing rough brick, the lumps of pipework, noting spots of dampness and disrepair. He could see Todd in front of him. He could feel the darkness behind him, catching at his heels. He put his other hand to his mask and switched on the night vision.

The tunnel went straight for a time, but there was still no signal from the diamond tracker when they came to a branch.

"We should really get something that we can read through these old lead-lined relics," Todd mused. "Or get the city to update its infrastructure. This can't be healthy."

"Bruce _likes_ the lead," Dick said with a snort. "It's not like we're sending our water supply through these tunnels or taking school kids on field trips."

"Right. So, detective, which way?"

The tunnel they'd been following came to a T, the intersecting tunnel heading off to the right and the left.

"Well, left leads back toward the Diamond District. Right leads toward Arkham. If I had to guess…"

"Arkham it is," Todd said.

Dick's hunch was rewarded with a faint ping from the tracker a short time later. It chimed and then winked out again, reappearing erratically. They had to retrace their steps a few times, but they eventually got close enough that the signal was consistent. Even then, though, they walked past the small gap in the wall twice before finding it in the dark.

"We've gotta be almost directly under Arkham right now," Dick said, feeling along the wall that they knew the signal had to be coming from. His hand found the gap before his eyes did; someone had painstakingly removed bricks to make a small opening. He peered through it.

"Yeah, someone's definitely set up camp here. But it's dark; I don't think they're here right now. In we go." He slipped through the gap.

Todd _definitely_ should have had a little trouble getting through the opening without knocking loose more bricks, but he entered without difficulty. Dick didn't think about it too hard. The small pile of diamonds sat on a workbench in plain view next to a few small metal working tools, a coil of solder, some wires. There was a small box of police badges set to the side; Dick examined one of them closely. It was a top-notch forgery, but otherwise ordinary.

"This could easily be Hatter stuff," Dick said. "Only—"

"No hats. Weird," said Todd.

"This whole thing has been weird. Since we're here anyway…" Dick looked meaningfully upward.

"We should look in on Mr. Tetch," Todd agreed. "Onward and upward."

They went up through the vents because there was a convenient one available and let themselves into the medium security wing. It was very late or very early and most of the inmates were asleep. The only guard they had to dodge was absorbed in something on his phone.

Tetch was sitting on the cot in his cell, kicking his feet idly. He looked up when Dick slid the panel on his door back.

"Oh, a bat? Twinkle twinkle…" He trailed off and gestured vaguely. "And the rest. Good night, little bat." He slumped over on his cot, hands clasped under his cheek, and began snoring theatrically.

"Hm," Dick said. He checked the locks on the door, checked the hinges, and found no evidence of tampering. "I guess that's why he's not reported escaped."

"Sun'll be up soon," Todd said. "You should check in with B, get some rest. Pick the case up again tonight."

"One last look through the workshop we found," Dick said. "Then we can call it quits."

They went back down through the ductwork. The room was identical to how they'd left it. The materials were generic, other than the diamonds; there was no way to tell where the components had been sourced from. Dick left it all where it was, but added a button camera of his own inside the ceiling vent just in case whoever was using the space came back.

He scoured the floor for any kind of track, but it was poured concrete; it didn't exactly hold a print. The rough edges of the hole in the wall were another story, though.

"Shredded wood. Didn't come from here," Todd said, holding up a scrap that had been caught on a brick near the floor.

"It's used as a packing material. High-end, usually."

"This is a pretty thick piece. Coarse. Industrial packing?"

Dick sighed. "Why am I not surprised we're headed to the warehouse district?"

"It's like you've done this before."

Dick looked sharply at Todd, but he was already leaving through the gap in the wall. Dick followed him. This time when he put out a hand to touch the walls of the tunnel, he could feel a faint vibration. The low moaning seemed closer, but he was feeling it more than hearing it. Every once in a while it increased in pitch to an abrupt tweak of a scream and Dick would spin around looking for the source but find nothing. Todd didn't seem to notice.

"Robin called when we were on our way up. We let him know the general shape of what we were working on. B already knew at least that much, so we didn't check in with him. A quick couple hours sleep in one of the family's bolt holes so we wouldn't have to waste time traveling back into the city, a little research into which companies use this type of wood as a packing material, and then…" Todd grasped the rungs of a ladder that Dick was fairly certain had not been there a moment before. He clambered up, heaved aside the manhole cover, and exited into twilight. The sun was barely down, but it was close enough. They had a lot of ground to cover.

Todd let Dick lead the way, slipping in and out of warehouses looking for any hint that something was not as it should be. They found what they were looking for soon enough: a warehouse used as storage for the Gotham Cap Company.

"Hats," said Dick. "Of course. But the Hatter – we saw him locked up. It was definitely him."

"Body double? Holographic projection? Magic? Secret twin? Copycat?" Todd shrugged. "It's Gotham. Could be anything."

"Let's find out what it _is_ , then," Dick said. They were perched on a ledge beneath the high windows running the perimeter of the building. Dick jimmied the window open and lowered himself to a catwalk, creeping around the perimeter before dropping to the main level to explore more thoroughly.

The warehouse appeared deserted, but the manager's office held dozens of the headbands their diamond thieves had been wearing. "Standard Hatter tech," Dick said, examining one. "But these…" Scattered across a table were steel circles with significantly different insides than the headbands. Two of them were holding down the curling edges of a design schematic that had been heavily notated by a clearly agitated hand.

Dick looked closer while Todd read over his shoulder. The original drawing had been of a thin circuit board designed to be sewn into a kind of wallet – no. Into a police badge. It was similar to the signal hijack they'd found on the cell towers, but the annotations seemed to be calculations attempting to convert the design into what Dick was seeing in the metal circlets here.

Dick frowned and flipped the schematic back. Beneath it was another one, this one definitely engineering specs for the cell tower device, but upgraded. A neat hand in the corner indicated a materials change to boost the power. It was entirely different handwriting to the notes on the first schematic.

There was one more sheet beneath that. Dick set aside the top two and then stared. It was a detailed drawing of the Batsignal – with some distressing modifications.

"This is bad. We need to tell— Todd, watch out!"

Too late. A hulking man wearing a tiny propeller hat had struck Todd across the back of the head and sent him sprawling. He rolled to his feet at once and dodged out of the way of the man's next strike, though it was more of a stumble than a dodge. Unfortunately it sent him right into the arms of a second man, almost identical to the first, who looped his massive arms around Todd's chest.

Tweedles. But how—

Todd thrust his head back into the Tweedle's nose, wincing as it connected with the knot the other one must have left with the first strike, but it wasn't enough to make the man let go. Neither was a stomp to the man's insole, or an attempt at folding forward to pull the man off balance.

"Don't bother. I've instructed him not to let go," said Jervis Tetch, entering the office. Dick snarled and lunged at him, intending to take him out and wrestle the control device out of his hands… but he passed right through Tetch as though he was a ghost, and Tetch kept going like he hadn't even seen Dick.

"My new crowns are quite insistent. Even involuntary pain reactions are controlled," the Hatter said. Then his eyes fell on the clearly rifled-through blueprints. "Oh my ears and whiskers. Someone's seen too much," he said.

"Who are you working with, Tetch?" Todd growled. "This stuff is way beyond you."

Tetch scowled. "It's _beneath_ me, you mean. Badges and signals and cell phones. Bah. I do despise group work. Especially when there's such a more elegant way of doing things."

He picked up one of the crowns from the table. Todd snorted. "That thing looks like a kid hacked it together using macaroni and a glue stick. You might have brought the baseline tech but installing it in police badges? Sending signals to phones? Turning the damn Batsignal into a broadcaster? It's beyond you, _Hatter_ ," Todd sneered. Dick saw what he was doing; make them angry, keep talking, find the way out.

It didn't work this time.

"You know I've always found your costume a bit dull," Tetch said. "When your mentor has such style." He twirled the crown around one finger. "This will be an improvement." He approached Todd, the crown held forward. Todd kicked out with both legs, using the Tweedle holding him as support, and Hatter danced backward.

"Dee," Hatter said. Then, "No, wait. Alices!" he hollered. A moment later a teenage girl and a young woman, both wearing crowns, appeared in the door. "Dee and Dum are strapping lads. They can take a hit. But how willing are you to damage these young ladies? Alices, hold his legs."

The Alices obeyed without hesitation, and without defending themselves. Setting his jaw, Todd pulled his legs up to evade their grasp, Dum's arms still pinning him like an iron vice. Todd kicked the young woman in the chest, sending her falling back – no permanent damage, just a bad bruise – and then managed to wrap his legs around the teenager. He twisted his lower body to send her crashing to the floor.

Both Alices got back up again.

It took Dee, Dum, the Alices, and Hatter shrieking orders over and over, but they eventually had Todd pinned sufficiently that Hatter was able to jam the crown down over his head. Dick watched, hands in fists, unable to do anything, though he'd tried. Todd didn't even seem to see him anymore, either.

"All right, Dum, let him go," Hatter said. Dum obeyed and Todd lurched at Hatter. Hatter raised his control box and flicked a switch. "Stop!" he ordered.

Todd stumbled to a halt. Dick could see the strain in his neck and jaw as he fought the order.

Hatter circled around behind him. "Oh very good," he said. "Edward and Crane will be so jealous I have a Bat of my own. And they said I was 'distracting from the goal' with my little experiments out here. Ha! I'd like to see their stupid badges and signals do this. Step forward," he instructed.

Todd's leg twitched, but he stayed where he was. Hatter frowned. He gave the control box a little shake.

"Step. Forward."

Another twitch. Todd's foot slid forward the barest inch, but then he stopped. Hatter stomped his foot, jabbed a button, and began firing orders at Todd rapidly. "Move forward! Leave the office! Obey me!"

Todd took two steps forward and then fell to his knees. A thin line of blood traced a path from his nose as he stared ahead blankly. Two drops splattered on the floor.

"Stand! What is _wrong_ with you!"

One of Todd's legs moved forward, the other didn't, and he sprawled to the ground.

"No," Dick murmured, going to his side. Todd's muscles twitched slightly, his jaw still clenched in resistance.

"Stop struggling," Hatter said. He jabbed the controls again. Todd's hands twitched and he got to his knees, then to his feet. "Finally," Hatter spat. "Now go out there and wait with the other Alices."

Todd took a few steps forward, out of the office, but then stumbled. His hand went to his head.

" _No_!" shouted Hatter. "Stop him!" Tweedle Dum leapt forward and closed one massive hand around Todd's wrist. Todd pulled back against it, but it seemed like reflex. His face was slack, expressionless. His ear was bleeding, red outlining his jaw.

"Ugh, let go," Hatter told the Tweedle. He did and, suddenly free, Todd went sprawling into a pile of crates where he lay slack, unmoving. Dick ran to him. "Useless boy," Hatter said. "And where there's one bat there's a flock. Dee! Burn those blueprints. Alices! Gather my things! I'll see if I can get any use out of this wretch."

Dick trailed his fingers over where the crown met Todd's skin. "This is what happened to you," he murmured. "Why Nightwing vanished." The crown felt suddenly solid under his hands and Dick felt ice drip down his spine. "No," he said. "Not to you." Through the high up windows he could see the clouds of Gotham turning red, split by unnatural lightning. He could hear the low roar of a fire in the distance, could taste something bitter and sour on the air. His head felt like someone was slowly twisting screws into his temples.

Behind him, Tetch was raising the control box again in slow motion, his mouth opening on a shout.

"Not to you," Dick repeated. "To _me_." He yanked the crown off of Todd's head and shoved it onto his own. Lightning struck.

"All right, Dickiebird." Someone was leaning over him, which meant that Dick must suddenly be on his back. He couldn’t make out the person's face; it was all in shadow. "You're almost there. Just make it back to us now, okay? B's gonna kick my ass if you don't." A gloved hand brushed across his forehead and then vanished. Everything vanished, and searing pain ripped through Dick's head. His back arched, he felt a shout tear at his throat, but no sound could make its way through the blackness around him. Screaming wasn't helping, so he stopped and just let the pain take him.

 


	13. Chapter 13

" _Either I mistake your shape and making quite, or else you are that shrewd and knavish knight call'd Robin Goodfellow. Are you not he_ — oh, good heavens, you startled me," Alfred said. He'd been reciting Shakespeare while he exercised Dick's limbs, as had been his habit these past few days while Dick had been unconscious. Just now, though, Alfred had nearly dropped the arm he was flexing; Dick had opened his eyes and was staring at him, an unprecedented occurrence.

Alfred lowered Dick's arm gently to the hospital bed they'd had installed in Dick's old room at the manor. "I say, my boy. Are you with me?"

But Dick's eyes had already closed again. Alfred felt his chest tighten and patted Dick's hand. " _Are you not he that frights the maidens of the villagery_ ," Alfred went on softly, sinking into the chair beside Dick's bed and pressing the alert button that would let Bruce know there had been a change. " _Skim milk and_ … oh, something about a butter churn, I should say. _Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm_. That is very like you, Master Richard, isn't it, but I can't remember what old Will rhymed with harm."

"Barm," Bruce said from the doorway. "It was a line about making beer flat, I think."

"Ah. _And sometime make the drink to bear no barm_. That's it, thank you."

"Is he…?"

"He opened his eyes. Just briefly." Alfred stood, smoothly slipping out of the way as Bruce sank into the chair in his place.

"I'll stay with him, Alfred."

"Very good, Master Bruce. But kindly refrain from brooding in silence. I do believe… that is, the lines I was just reciting referenced Robin Goodfellow. It may have been a coincidence."

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll talk to him."

Alfred nodded and left the room. As he proceeded to the stairs, thinking to take dinner in hand, he passed Damian's door. It creaked open minutely. Alfred paused.

There was silence for a few moments. Then, "I heard Father's steps. Has something happened?"

"He's opened his eyes. Just briefly. And how are you feeling, Master Damian?"

"I'm well, Alfred. You do not need to worry about me."

"It has been days, young man. You might at least come down to dinner tonight."

The door clicked closed.

Alfred sighed.

Two days ago, Jason had hauled a comatose Dick and a hissing, spitting, and restrained Robin out of the sewers, deposited them into Batman's arms, and fled. Further investigation had revealed Crane, Nygma, and Tetch in a battered heap in the tunnels below. Robin and Dick had been dosed with fear gas, but while it had made Robin lash out, it had rendered Dick quite unconscious, a reaction to Crane's toxin that he had never exhibited before.

When Damian recovered, he explained what had happened in the tunnels: how Crane had dropped a gas canister, carelessly poisoning his two compatriots along with both Dick and Robin. Red Hood had been wearing his helmet and was thus spared the toxin's effects. Hatter had curled up into a ball whimpering, Riddler had tried to run, and Scarecrow had attacked.

Despite prior injuries – and some form of drugging, Robin surmised – Red Hood had fought Scarecrow off while simultaneously preventing Robin from fatally injuring him; as it turned out, Robin's particular reaction to this fear gas was a kind of berserker rage. Red Hood had shot Riddler in the knee as he ran, grabbed Scarecrow by the mask and twisted it around so he couldn't see, then ziptied both him and Tetch to exposed piping. Then he had tackled Robin to the ground, tied his wrists and ankles, hauled him up a nearby ladder to street level, and left him there while he went back for Dick.

By the time Red Hood had returned moments later with Dick over his shoulder, Batman had found them and was administering an antidote to Damian. Red Hood had hesitated at the sight of him, still clutching Dick, seemingly torn on what to do. Then he'd laid Dick next to Damian and stepped away.

"Jason—" That had been all Batman had managed to say before Jason was grappling away into the night. No one had heard from him since.

Batman had brought Dick and Robin back to the cave. J'onn J'onzz had arrived. There had been nothing he could do for Dick. "He will either wake, or he will not," J'onn had said. "And if he does, he may not remember."

"May not remember what, exactly?" Batman demanded.

"Anything. Or some things. His mind is a jumble. The fear toxin is clouding things. It opens the memory to pull out trauma, to distress the victim, and Dick's mind was already traumatized. What happens next, I cannot even guess."

"Can't you help him?" Batman already knew the answer; J'onn didn't need to be a mind-reader to hear that in his voice.

"My intrusion at this point would only make things worse. I… am not skilled enough. I am sorry."

"Go," Batman had growled, and J'onn had gone.

Damian had retreated to his room after recovering, saying nothing to anyone and particularly avoiding Bruce. He hadn't emerged since then. Dick, for his part, was physically stable so they moved a hospital bed into his room and transferred him up there, reasoning that if he did wake up that would be a much more neutral place than the Batcave for him to see first thing, since they weren't sure what condition his mind would be in.

Bruce had denied all of the Bats access to Dick's room, again on the grounds that they could explain his own or Alfred's presence to a Dick who woke up with only his memories of the past few months, but that the presence of the others might confuse him. Barbara had yelled at him after that, but he figured she was entitled to it. He still wasn't letting her in.

And now…

Alfred hummed as he moved about the kitchen. Tonight's dinner would be a pot roast, but he thought he might put on a sauce for tomorrow. Dick loved his bolognaise, bless him, and Alfred knew the smell of a sauce simmering for hours could permeate the entire house, even up to the bedrooms.

 

Jason frowned at the blood on his sheets. It had probably soaked through to the mattress, which meant he'd have to replace it. The mattress, not the blood. Well, maybe the blood too, he wasn't sure, though the fact that he'd woken up was a good sign.

His cheek was pressed to the bed, one arm pinned under him and quite asleep. He rolled over with a groan, and then with a restrained yelp as the cut on his thigh stretched and the gouge in his shoulder touched the bed. He hadn't _quite_ made it to bandaging them. He was lucky he'd made it to a safehouse.

Had he taken an antidote? He was pretty sure he had. He shoved himself out of bed and took stock. There was the first aid kit, contents a jumble and half spilled across the cheap linoleum of the kitchenette this small apartment boasted. The general fear toxin antidote was depleted, so that was good.

He'd stripped at some point. He remembered being overwhelmingly warm, shaking fingers fumbling at the clasps of his armor, almost triggering his own failsafes. The suit left a trail of pieces from his window to the first aid kit to the bed. It needed cleaning and repairs.

So did he.

Fucking _Scarecrow_.

Jason had a largely physical reaction to Crane's toxins. Or at least, he did now. He remembered being hit with them as Robin, falling into an endless warren of alleyways and ill-lit street corners, trudging through a litter of used needles, dodging the grasping hands and fists of shadowed bodies as he darted from light source to light source…

There was still a bit of that, and a bit of Pit – demons and manic laughter, locks he couldn't break as a clock ticked down – but none of it was anything worse than what he'd already gone through and survived and learned to cope with so it was like his brain just flushed everything into a physical reaction instead. He felt like he'd had the flu for a week, even though a quick look at his phone showed it had only been about forty-eight hours since he'd been dosed.

He turned the shower as hot as it would go and got in. Luckily the pressure was kind of crap in this particular apartment, so it only stung a little on his healing wounds. Jason stood under the stream and dragged his thoughts into coherence.

Had he done the right thing, handing Dick over to Bruce?

Stupid to wonder. He'd done the _only_ thing. At the point where he'd crawled out of the tunnels, with Dick basically Fay Wrayed over his shoulder, he was barely keeping his feet. He'd operated entirely on instinct to bring down Hatter, Scarecrow, and Riddler and it was just lucky that the instincts that had surfaced had been more Robin than Red Hood. Wrangling Damian had actually been harder than all three of the others and he really wished he could remember more of it because he suspected it would be immensely satisfying.

But climbing that ladder and finding fucking Batman, there to take the situation in hand… He'd wanted to clutch Dick closer to him and flee to the highest gargoyle, steal a Batmobile and not stop until he hit a palm tree, throw himself over Dick and inform Batman that he could have him over _Jason's dead body._

Yes, the fear toxin did strange things to him.

And what had it done to _Dick_? Jason got out of the shower, dried himself gingerly. The wounds were still bleeding a little to the touch and should be cleaned more thoroughly and wrapped. The shoulder one was going to be awkward to reach. He put it off a little longer, checking his messages.

Nothing about Dick. Not that he'd necessarily expected anything, but he'd thought maybe Damian would have…

Okay, well, he'd _maybe_ punched Damian a few times so _maybe_ Damian wouldn't have.

But had Dick recovered from the fear toxin? Had Bruce called in J'onn? If he went back to Dick's apartment would he find civilian-Dick there, going about his day in half a daze, wondering why Todd wasn't texting him?

Oh, there was a thought. Jason found Todd's phone and turned it on. Dick had only sent two texts since Jason had turned it off. Jason had to close his eyes for a moment after reading them and take a few deep breaths.

Then he turned the phone off again, slapped a bandage more-or-less over his wounds (as near as he could reach with the shoulder one, a somewhat more accurate wrap for the thigh) and got dressed. Fuck this, he was _done_. Whatever had happened to Dick next, he needed to be over it and out of it. He'd wrap up a few things as Red Hood over the next few days, then clean up his surveillance at Dick's apartment so he wouldn't be tempted to peek, close up his safe houses, and get the hell out of town. It would be best for everyone.

 

"Todd?" Dick felt himself say. His throat was painfully dry. His teeth tasted fuzzy. He wanted his eyes to open, but they wouldn't. He'd been dreaming of vague shapes, pastel blurs hovering over him, sometimes talking.

"Dick," said a voice that was not Todd. Because Todd didn't have a voice. Todd didn't… who the hell was Todd? "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Dick said. His eyes were still too heavy to open.

"Can you open your eyes?"

"No," Dick said firmly.

"All right, son. That's okay."

"Bruce?"

"It's me."

"Why are you here?"

"Do you know where you are?"

_Fair point,_ Dick thought. But his mouth didn't want to connect back to his brain to say it out loud. He felt himself sinking back into a sleep, and the thought sent a spike of alarm through him. He must have reacted somehow, because he suddenly felt a hand grasping his.

"Easy, Dick. It's all right."

"There's something important," Dick said. He tried to raise his hand to his face, to maybe pry his eyes open with his fingers, but he felt like there were weights hanging off his wrists. He turned his head into the pillow. _On the count of three_ , he told himself. _One, two—_

He recognized the room and didn't recognize it at the same time. There was a bed in the corner, but he was not in it. He was in a hospital bed, an IV sticking out of his arm. A chest of drawers had been pushed aside to make room for the bed near the window. Greyish daylight was filtering in through clouds and the half-drawn curtains. His old Flying Graysons poster was on the wall directly in front of him, impossible to miss if he opened his eyes.

Which he had.

He sat up suddenly, causing Bruce to stand in alarm.

"Dick—"

"The signal. The Batsignal. Bruce!" Dick's head tipped forward and he pressed the heel of one hand against it, reaching out blindly to Bruce with his other hand. Bruce grasped it and leaned in, a supportive hand on Dick's back.

"Relax, Dick, you've been injured—"

"Mad Hatter, Riddler, Scarecrow – they've done something to it. Tampered— it's broadcasting a fear signal. Low-level anxiety on the radio waves that carry cell signals, focused fear whenever the Batsignal is lit, more direct control over the police through their badges – we're all being dosed with Scarecrow's latest experiment. Right now, Bruce! For weeks!"

Bruce straightened. "I need to—" He hesitated, looking down at Dick, who was still clutching his head. Dick tore his hand from Bruce's grip and gave him a completely ineffective shove. " _Go,_ fix it," he urged him. "I'm fine!"

Bruce nodded once, then swept from the room. Dick collapsed back against his pillows, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. His head was throbbing. His eyelids were heavy. He didn't know how long he lay there, without the energy to get up but also desperate not to fall back asleep in case he lost it all, never woke up again.

What the hell had happened to him?

He cast around, looking for his phone, a computer, something to connect him to the world, to the others, someone he could ask since he wasn't sure his legs would take him where he needed to go at the moment. There was nothing. He eyed the IV stand. It looked nice and portable.

"Okay, legs, don't let me down," he muttered, getting ready to swing them over the edge of the bed and take his chances.

The knock at the door stopped him.

"Dick?" Leslie Thompkins poked her head in. "They told me you were awake. May I come in?"

"Please," Dick said. "I'm going stir crazy."

"You've been awake for ten minutes and in that time you've already managed to send Bruce tearing off like a bat out of— well, you know. You can't possibly be bored already."

"I'm not bored, I just..." _Don't want to fall asleep._ "No one likes being in a hospital bed, Leslie. How'd you get here so fast?"

"I've been hanging around. You've been waking up for a few days now; Bruce asked me to stick close."

"A few _days_? How long was I out?"

Leslie held up a hand. "Slow down. First, everything is fine. Second, like most things with your family, it's complicated. Do you know what day it is?"

"You just told me I've been out for an unspecified amount of time. I have no idea what day it is."

"Okay. What month is it?"

"August. No, wait." Dick glanced out the window. What leaves were left on the trees he could see were brown and orange. "Tell me I haven't time traveled."

"You haven't time traveled. Do you know what year it is?" Dick told her and she nodded. "What's your name?" Dick rolled his eyes and told her that, too. "Good. I'm going to take your blood pressure, check your vision, that sort of thing, all right?"

"Sure," Dick said. She opened her bag and proceeded, asking him further questions while she did. He answered everything easily.

"All right. You are in remarkably good health, Dick. Just a few more things."

"Shoot."

"What's the last thing you remember before waking up?"

Dick hesitated. "I don't… I was dreaming. So I'm not sure what's actually real. I think I remember listening to people here. People came in and talked to me."

"And before that?"

"Tracking down the Mad Hatter?" Dick said.

"Are you asking me?"

Dick grimaced. "I— dreamt that. But I think it might have actually happened, too. He took me by surprise. He was working with Riddler and Scarecrow so I wasn't really sure what I was dealing with. He hatted me and… now here I am."

"All right," Leslie said.

"You're doing Neutral Doctor Voice. Is that not right? What happened to me? It's not August. It looks like fall outside. Have I been out for months?"

"You experienced some trauma as a result of your confrontation with Jervis Tetch," Leslie said. "Your brain injury was… catastrophic. To be honest, Dick, you shouldn't be awake right now."

Dick frowned. "There are no machines in here. No life support. If someone's out for months, you need that stuff." He ran a thumb over his IV.  "Complicated, you said."

"I don't know exactly what happened," Leslie said. "Bruce should really be the one to tell you, rather than you hearing it second-hand from me."

"All right," Dick said. His hands shivered lightly. He grasped the blanket. "Can I get a phone or something in here then? I need to check on some things."

"That's… probably not a good idea. You're going to want to ease back into things."

"Am I," Dick said flatly. Leslie narrowed her eyes at him. He shook his head and smiled brightly at her. "Sorry. Of course. You're the doctor. How about a crossword or something, then?"

"Crosswords, you can handle. I'll give the word to Alfred that you're all set for visitors." She pressed a hand to his shoulder. "I'm glad you're back, Dick."

He grinned at her. "Me too."

He waved as she left the room, waited for the door to click closed, and then pulled the IV carefully out of his arm, using the medical tape that had held it in place to bandage the mark it had left. He put one foot, and then the other on the ground, and shuffled slowly to the window (for stealth reasons, of course, not because he was incapable of moving any faster).

The window seat had a soft cushion on it. Dick couldn't count the number of times he'd knelt there while carefully easing the window open and then slipping out to the sill, then over to a convenient drainpipe. Today, though, the only part he seemed to be able to manage was getting a knee up on to the cushion. His muscles were trembling, his hands shaking.

Then, abruptly, he was at a different window in an unfamiliar apartment, Robin at his side, supporting him as he tried to climb through it, lowering them both to street level. Dick gasped and slid off the window seat, sinking to his knees in front of it, clutching at the cushion to support himself.

"Grayson?" came a voice from behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Robin," Dick breathed. He turned, letting go of the window seat and sliding the rest of the way to the floor. "I mean Damian. You— I— God, I feel like Dorothy coming home from Oz," he said, knocking his head back against the wall.

"You shouldn't be up."

"I'm not. Look. Floor. Pretty not up."

Damian scoffed and crossed the room to help him stand. Dick let him, leaning heavily on him. It felt familiar, but, well, they'd done this lots of times. "Damian," Dick said as Damian tugged him back to the bed. Dick sat heavily on it, but didn't pull his legs in. "What happened to me?"

Damian hesitated. Dick reached out and took him by the shoulder.

"Look," Dick said. "If you're not going to tell me, I'm going to have to ask you to get the hell out."

Damian shrugged his hand off. "What do you know?"

"Mad Hatter, brain injury… poof, it's autumn. Have I been in a coma this whole time? Was there magic?"

"No, neither of those. You _were_ in a coma, back in August. Father called in the Martian to repair your mind, but… in order to wake you up he had to remove anything associated with the trauma. Nightwing. Us."

Dick stared at him. "What?" he asked numbly.

"He gave you amnesia, rebuilt your life for you, so that you could live it."

"J'onn did that?" Dick said.

"At Father's instruction."

"You… he… did it _work_?"

"Yes. You have been living your life for nearly three months. Do you remember none of it?"

"I don't know," Dick said. "I don't know what's— I thought I was dreaming, but maybe— three months?!"

Damian nodded warily. "With the stipulation that none of us could be in contact with you, or we would risk awakening your memories and re-traumatizing you."

"So what the hell was I doing for three months, wandering around the city with, with no memory? With no one I know? With some kind of fake life?"

Damian shifted. "I was against the decision—"

"I don't care, Damian," Dick said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. He sighed. "I mean, I know it's not your fault. Bruce… this has Bruce written all over it. I need to think."

"There's something else," Damian said. Dick could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Damian look guilty, and that included this one.

"What else could there possibly be," Dick said.

"I collaborated with Todd in an attempt to restore your memory, despite knowing that it might result in a permanent relapse. I had reason to believe it would not, but we put you in danger. It was… nearly disastrous. I thought I was doing the right thing," Damian finished miserably.

"And is that why I remember who I am now?" Dick asked.

"That and the fear gas, I think." 

"The… fear gas."

"We ran into the Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and the Riddler in the tunnels when I attempted to abduct you." 

"When you—" Dick sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, resting his elbows on his thighs. "I am very tired."

"Of course. You must rest. I—" Damian made a sort of truncated movement forward, almost like he was going to hug Dick. Then he straightened and cleared his throat. "Please do not attempt to climb out the window, Grayson. In your current condition it would only be embarrassing." He turned and hurried from the room.

Dick dragged himself slowly back into the bed and curled onto his side. No wonder Leslie hadn't wanted to tell him anything. Complicated was an understatement. He had no idea how he felt. Should Bruce have left him in a coma? If he had, would Dick be here right now? What had the life Bruce had built him been like? Should Damian and Jason have—

Jason. Why had _Jason_ helped him? Much as Dick's tired mind wanted to spin fantasies around the answer to that question, Dick had to admit its preferred scenarios were unlikely, no matter how often over the past years Dick had daydreamed about patching up (and, sometimes, significantly... _altering_ ) their relationship. He set aside that mystery for later, for the sake of his sanity.

Dick could understand Damian, though; he could imagine how Damian had taken Dick's injury, how he'd react to his subsequent exile from Dick's life. Dick shivered, suddenly glad he couldn't remember being cut off from everyone.

Something niggled on the edges of conscious thought, like he'd forgotten to lock his front door or where he'd put his keys. _No shit, Grayson_ , he thought. _You've forgotten about three months of your life._ He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, trying to remember. That flash of Robin helping him at an unknown window – dream or reality? It felt real. But he could also remember wandering a house with red carpets and diamond doorknobs, following someone whose face he could never see. That one was probably a dream.

He fell asleep like that, sorting through memory and not-memory, wondering where he'd find himself tomorrow.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, real quick because I don't want to clutter things up in the last chapters - I came up with the title for this fic off the top of my head, but as usual I Googled it to make sure it didn't have any strange or unwanted connotations. The fic was already written and beta'd when I did this and found the [ Cirque du Soleil song Let Me Fall ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uCYcN7dRgc) which I had definitely never heard before. It's... weirdly accurate to this fic?? So, enjoy the serendipity :) (Oh, [here are lyrics](https://genius.com/Cirque-du-soleil-let-me-fall-lyrics) if you need them)

Babs visited him the next morning. Dick had really been expecting Duke or Cass since they lived in the manor, but Babs told him Bruce had restricted his visitors. She'd exempted herself from that rule and dared him to stop her. He'd let her pass.

"Wait, he doesn't honestly think I'm just going to sit here in my room for however long, does he?"

Babs shrugged. "I think he'd _like_ that. But I don't think he believes you'll actually do that, no."

"Yeah, I'm out," Dick said. He was feeling much better. He had no physical injury, so there was no reason he shouldn't be up and about, recovering the strength he'd lost over the last few months playing civilian. He went to his closet in search of real clothes. "Tell me about my life?" he asked Babs.

"Well, we found you a job in a bookstore," Babs said. Dick poked his head out of the closet.

"A bookstore? Really? That's an interesting choice."

"It's what was available. You seemed to like it."

"And no one commented on Bruce Wayne's ward suddenly turning up in Gotham to peddle books?"

"Not sure," Babs said. "We weren't keeping that close a watch on you. The whole point of it was to give you space. Which, of course, is how Damian and Jason were able to get as far as they did."

"Yeah. Jason." Dick had a host of conflicting memories of Jason and had no idea if any of them were real: run-ins with the Red Hood, snippets of conversation, a motorcycle? Probably about seventy-five percent dream, he figured. He did _not_ call it wishful thinking. "Wouldn't have predicted that. Hey," he said, finally finding the shirt he'd been looking for and coming back out. "Bludhaven?"

Babs looked down.

Dick sighed. "You guys just abandoned it, huh? All right. Great."

"I think Tim looked in over there a few times. It's just, you were more important."

"So I just picked up and moved to Gotham, didn't try to get in touch with any of the family, and started working in a bookstore. What the hell did you guys stick in my head?"

"Hey, first of all, it was Bruce. And he didn't tell us about it until it was done. You get to be mad or whatever, but not at me," Babs said.

"All right," Dick allowed. "The question stands."

Babs propped her elbow on the arm of her chair and sat her chin in her hand, watching Dick as she spoke. "The story he went with is that you were estranged. He had to take out everything having to do with Robin, so he left you with memories of being raised in an empty house where he was never around. Basically like he took you in as a tax write-off and then left you to your own devices. You moved out when you were eighteen and never looked back, each of his subsequent adoptions driving you further away. You got into a bad relationship in Bludhaven and moved here for a fresh start after finally ending it."

Dick stared at her. "I suppose puppies and rainbows was too much to hope for. How did I not go insane? Or clinically depressed?"

"Dick, try not to obsess over this—"

"It's been two days, Babs. I'm still coming to terms."

"Okay, but don't dwell, all right? Go downstairs, yell at B, get it out of your system. The sooner you do that, the sooner you can start moving on."

Dick grinned at her and bent to drag her into a hug. "It's like you know me. Want me to push you?"

"Go for it. You've skipped a few months of arm days," Babs said, leaning back with her hands folded behind her head. "Get to it, Grayson, I'm waiting."

Dick laughed and wheeled her to the chair lift and kept pace with her all the way down the stairs. Babs made a sharp turn at ground level, stating her intention to seek out snacks and to not be anywhere near whatever was about to go down between Dick and Bruce. She ordered him to come find her when it was over if he needed to.

Dick went to the clock in the study and headed down.

Bruce was at the main computer array, cowl pushed back, looking like someone who had worked all night with no sleep.

"Fighting the good fight?" Dick asked.

Bruce turned to him. "I found the array on the signal," he said. "I should have realized. Gordon's been acting on-edge for a long time. I thought the stress, the way the city's been… with the signal repaired and all of the badges being checked, he should be back to normal before long. But the whole city's been affected by the cell towers."

"I never really figured out what was going on with that," Dick said, coming to lean against the desk. "Or at least, I don't think I did."

"They were using the cell towers to broadcast a low-level anxiety through the city. It made minds receptive to fear, and to manipulation. Some people were more susceptible than others. It wasn't direct control, but I think they were working up to that. They used Arkham as their testing grounds."

"Somehow managed to compromise the staff, and then they could come and go from their cells as they pleased?" Dick guessed.

"Crane smuggled the tech in the last time he was caught. This has been going on a long time. Luckily, Hatter went rogue. Crane and Riddler's methods don't fit his neurosis. He was sneaking off to work on his own projects when he was supposed to just be using his Alices for supply runs to manufacture more powerful repeaters. Which is when you caught him."

"Doesn't really fit the Riddler's MO, either," Dick pointed out.

Bruce scowled. "There's a riddle embedded in the signal being sent through the cell towers just waiting for someone to look at it. The signal is encrypted; the solution to the riddle is the key to the encryption. Red Robin is working on it. When he finds it, we'll be able to nullify the signal all at once."

"Or you could smash the boxes piggybacking on the towers," Dick said.

"There are over five thousand cell phone towers and antennas in Gotham."

"Ah. So Tim will be faster."

Bruce closed the file he'd been working on – some sort of botanical study showing the effects of radio waves on plant life – and turned to Dick. "Why aren't you resting?"

"Because I'm fine, Bruce. And I have questions."

"Ask."

But Dick didn't know what to say. He was still sorting through what had happened; he had no idea if he'd still be in a coma if Bruce hadn't made the call that he did, or if he might have recovered. Or whether he'd be standing here now if Damian and Jason hadn't interfered. So many _if_ s, and Dick had no idea where to start.

"Are you mad at Damian and Jason?" was what came out.

Bruce seemed as surprised as Dick was at that. "They were given direct orders. They disobeyed and put you at risk," he said.

"And if they hadn't, I'd still be… whoever I was these past three months. And you'd have no idea about what Scarecrow, Hatter, and Riddler were doing."

Bruce inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Are _you_ mad at them?"

"I can't even decide if I'm mad at you, and that's usually a no-brainer for me," Dick said.

"Hm." Bruce turned back to the computer and brought the plant study up again. "If you figure it out, let me know. I'll be here."

"Bruce, I—" Dick crossed his arms. "Never mind. Let me know if you need help on the case."

 

When he returned upstairs he found Babs in one of the parlors having tea with Alfred, Cass, and Duke despite the early hour. She took one look at him and frowned.

"You didn't yell."

"I didn't yell," Dick agreed. "Hey Cass, Duke. Alf."

Cass stood and came over to hug him. He hugged her back, feeling the tension go out of his shoulders. "Glad you're back," she said.

"Me too," Dick said.

"All of us," Duke added. "It was weird without you."

"I'll try to avoid having my memory tampered with in the future," Dick said dryly. They all snorted at that (with the exception of Alfred) knowing full well that that sort of thing was part and parcel of the vigilante life in Gotham.

"Will you join us for tea?" Alfred asked.

"No, I need to be… up. Moving. I'll catch you guys later. Babs, don't leave without saying goodbye, all right?"

"Of course," Babs said. She quirked an eyebrow at him and he shrugged one shoulder. They'd talk. But not in front of the kids.

Dick was still having a hard time with what felt like, to him, a sudden weather change. He wandered out without a coat, then hastily turned around and went back in to look for one. He caught a glimpse of Damian watching him from his window, but only a glimpse. He wondered if Damian's cloistering himself in his room was his own idea or if he was grounded. He suspected the former, but his discussion with Bruce had been typically cryptic. He didn't know if Damian was being punished, but the thought that Bruce might do that didn't sit well with him. And if Damian was being punished, what about Jason?

He walked the grounds until he felt tired, which didn't take as long as it should have. Just to test himself, he scaled the wall outside his window (trellis, awning, drainpipe, sill) to let himself back into the house. He was slightly winded, but overall fine. It would seem he hadn't let himself go _too_ badly while he was playing civilian.

Babs was waiting for him in his room. "All right, boy wonder," she said as he closed the window behind him. "What's up?"

"I want the surveillance files," Dick said. "Don't bother telling me you don't have any. Oh, and my phone."

Babs grinned at him and held his phone out. "Kept it for you."

"How touching."

"You have a tendency to beat the odds, Dick. I didn't want to go to all the trouble of programming a new one. By the way, we haven't told anyone you're back yet. Figured it was best to let you do it yourself when you're ready."

"Thanks," Dick said, pocketing the phone. "And the surveillance?"

"There's not as much as you might think. We really did go light-touch on this. I was mostly plugged into live feeds and honestly there isn't much of interest until, oh, maybe a month in."

"What happened a month in?"

"Jason planted cameras in your apartment."

"I have an apartment?"

"For a little while longer, anyway. I'm assuming you don't want to keep it," Babs said. "There's a few files I saved from the bookstore, but not a lot. Anything interesting that happened, for the most part, Damian overwrote to prevent me from seeing and I couldn't get all of it back, but I did get some audio files from him." She paused. "Dick, there's… maybe talk to Jason before you look at everything? For context."

"That's kind of cryptic, Babs. But yeah, I'll talk to Jason if he'll talk to me. That hasn't changed. Where is he?"

"Well, no one's actually seen him since he dragged you out of the tunnels," Babs said. "It's possible he's left town."

"Right. The files?"

She sighed. "I'll send you what I've got. Just keep in mind he was trying to help, all right?"

"Sure."

 

Babs was as good as her word and sent him the files as soon as she got home. Dick didn't look at them right away, though, badly as he wanted to. Alfred had cooked and it was rare enough for Dick to be at the manor at a reasonable hour for dinner. They both hoped the smell of the lasagna Alfred had assembled and frozen while Dick had been unconscious would lure Damian out, but so far no luck.

"I _knew_ I smelled your sauce," Dick said. They took dinner in the kitchen since it was just them. "And… were you reading to me?"

"Reciting," Alfred said. " _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. Do you remember opening your eyes? It was rather startling. Right in the middle of the act two, scene one."

"Not at all," Dick said. "Things were… pretty hazy there for a while. But Babs sent me some files to look over, should help clear up some things."

"I do hope so. Have you heard at all from Master Jason?"

"No," Dick said. "I think pretty much everyone has seen him more recently than me. At least as far as I can remember." He wondered what that other him had thought, traipsing through Gotham's tunnels with the Red Hood of all people. Hopefully he'd find out soon.

But on his way back to his room where the surveillance files waited he ran into Tim, who hadn't been back in the manor since Dick had woken and wanted Dick's opinion on what he thought was the solution to the cell encryption riddle and his methodology, all of which Dick recognized as Tim's way of saying _I'm glad you're okay, I was worried._ So Dick spent some time with him going over it, providing what details he could remember about what he'd discovered.

"Babs told me you looked in on Bludhaven while I was gone," Dick said when Tim made to head for the Cave an hour later, confident in his solution and ready to fix Gotham's cellular network.

"Oh," Tim said, eyes on the papers he'd covered in test equations and notes. "Just here and there. Not— I couldn't full time, but I kind of…" He shrugged. "Asked Kon to help."

Dick smiled at the sheepish look on his face. "I'm not Bruce. I don't mind non-Bats in my city. Kon's fine."

"…and Bart."

Dick laughed. "Also fine. But I hope people didn't get used to having superheroes looking out for them. They're going to have to settle for me again soon."

Tim frowned at him. "Dick, you _are_ —" He sighed the sigh of someone who'd just seen how a conversation was going to go and decided it wasn't worth the energy. "Never mind. I'm glad you're back, and I'm sure Bludhaven will be, too. Detective Svoboda certainly will be."

"She give you a hard time?"

Tim's cheeks colored a little. "I may have… attempted to impersonate you at first. So that no one would think anything was wrong."

Dick laughed. "And how long did that last?"

"She saw through it in a couple seconds and yelled at me. It's worse than getting it from Bullock."

Dick patted his shoulder. "It's how she shows she cares. Seriously though, Tim. Thanks."

Tim's embarrassment grew and he shrugged Dick off, ducking through the clock. "It's nothing."

 

Damian had been the next one to waylay Dick on his way upstairs, drifting out of his room in Dick's wake, clearly needing to say something. Dick stopped and waited, hanging on to his patience.

"Grayson," Damian said finally. "I… need to know if I did the right thing."

Dick leaned one shoulder against the wall. This was a familiar enough conversation. Damian often calibrated his moral compass using Dick as a pole. But Dick had never been quite so close to the quandary in question before. "What do you think, Damian?"

"I do not know. That is why I am asking. You were not there to consult and I… I fear I may have rationalized what I _wanted_ into what was _right_."

Dick thought about that, nodding. "Here's the thing," he said. "I don't know either. Actually, you're in a better position than I am to tell what was right in this case. I don't know the information you had. I can't say what I would have done in the same situation. So all you can do is trust that you did the best you could with what you had – or if you didn't, to learn from it and do better next time."

"There will be no next time!" Damian snapped.

"There probably will be," Dick said, resigned. "Maybe not this exact thing, but this life is full of tough calls like the one you made. This one turned out all right, but you're aware of how close it was. That's good, Damian. For what it's worth, coming from someone who wasn't there, I think you can trust yourself."

Damian searched his face, as he often did, for any hint of falsehood. It had taken Dick a long time to get used to that, but when he wasn't lying it wasn't a problem. Damian nodded. "Good. I— yes. I will do that, then. That's settled," he said. He cleared his throat. "Grayson. While you were… away… you exhibited some signs of subconscious distress at the sudden reduction in daily physical contact in your life."

"Oh?" Dick asked.

"There are many studies showing the importance of touch to one's mental and emotional well-being. So, to speed your recovery, you may hug me."

Dick grinned. "That's very generous, Damian, thanks. But I don't hug people who don't want it."

Damian scowled. "Grayson, I insist—"

Dick was already folding him into his arms before the third word was out. "Thanks, little D," he said to Damian's hair. "I know what you meant."

Damian scoffed at his chest, but his arms circled Dick just the same and he held on a little longer, face pressed against Dick's t-shirt, before loosening his grip and pushing Dick away. "That should be sufficient for now."

"I'll come find you if I need another one," Dick said. Damian rolled his eyes at him and escaped back into his room. Dick did the same.

Babs' files waited for him on a laptop he'd smuggled out of the cave that morning. There were mostly video files, but some audio as well, as promised. He started at the earliest video file.

It was strange, at first, watching himself do things he had no memory of; walking down the street, letting himself into an apartment building, standing behind a counter at a bookstore.

Then it was just boring. Babs had been right, there wasn't much to see. He began randomly clicking through files, waiting for something to click in his head. He paused on one showing a little girl in the bookstore who made Dick laugh. It was a real laugh, too, and she showed up in a couple of other video files. Kid must really like books.

Dick had also apparently joined a gym. That was something of a relief, but not particularly riveting. He skipped forward to later files about a month in, ones that showed him in his apartment.

Dick frowned. He looked _miserable_. He skipped through a couple of files, watched himself try and fail to sleep, or stare off into space for minutes at a time, or pace his apartment like the Haly's tiger, Euphrates, did when he had to be in his smaller traveling cage. If this behavior had been what Damian and Jason had based their decision to interfere on, he couldn't blame them.

But then, inexplicably, there were clips where he seemed fine, moments that, if he hadn't lost all memory of them, would have seemed totally normal.

Dick closed the laptop with a frustrated sigh. This wasn't helping. It was only making him more confused; he needed context for these things and he was feeling far too restless to go through all of the files methodically and piece his life together.

He stood, paced the room a few times, recognized the action from video he'd just watched, and stopped.

"Oh, fuck it," he muttered.

 

Minutes later, Dick was on his bike, charging into Gotham. He'd briefly considered going as Nightwing but opted against it. He hadn't told anyone he was back yet and while the drama of simply appearing appealed to him, he wasn't sure he was ready for the deluge of concerned parties (and villainous parties) that would bring down.

He'd Googled Read the Rainbow since he couldn't remember how to get there. He parked the bike, jammed his hands into his coat pockets, and approached.

It was a nice looking store, well kept up, with a bright logo on the large picture window. An older lady with blue hair was inside, apparently doing accounting while watching the desk. Dick… knew her. She owned the store. He'd worked for her for almost three months. He had no idea what her name was. This was a terrible idea.

He went in.

She looked up when the bell jangled and suddenly Dick knew her name. "Laine," he said.

"Dick," she replied. "You dick. What the fuck?"

"Uh… I don't know?"

She slammed closed the ledger she'd been painstakingly writing in. "You quit via _email_? 'I regret to inform you that I must discontinue my employment' blah, blah, blah. You hire a robot to write that for you? Everything was spelled right and everything!"

Dick winced. Tim, probably. "Ah, sorry. Family emergency?"

"You couldn't be bothered to answer a text?"

"I lost my phone. And there was… um, I hit my head so things are a little…"

Laine stared at him. "What, again?"

"What do you mean again?"

"You told me you hit your head right before you moved here." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you okay, Dick? You're not back with your ex, are you?"

"Uh, no. Definitely not."

"So you had a family emergency, lost your phone, and hit your head. Not gonna lie, Dick, I'm a little worried."

"Don't be. I just wanted to swing by and, uh, check in, I guess."

"I'm replacing you with Amalie," Laine said.

"Oh. Good," Dick said. "That's great. She'll do great."

"Amalie is six, Dick. What the hell, you really did hit your head?"

Dick shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, I… wait. Amalie. Why am I…" He frowned. "She had a book of jokes. She used to make me laugh."

"Yeah, and she misses you. No one else is as terrible at guessing punchlines as you are."

"That sounds…" Then he remembered, suddenly: letting Amalie deliver her punchlines, playing dumb so that she would laugh. "Exactly right," Dick said with a small smile. "Thanks, Laine. Hey, did you ever ask Beth out?"

" _This_ he remembers. For your information, _not_ that it's any of your business, we have a date tonight," she said haughtily.

"That's great," Dick said, surprised to find he actually meant it. He couldn't for the life of him remember who Beth was, but he was pretty sure he was supportive of her dating his boss. "I'll get out of your way, then. Good luck tonight."

"Hey wait a second," Laine said. "Are you coming back?"

"To work?" Dick asked. "Uh, no. No, I wasn't planning on it."

"Well tell that Bruce of yours if he wants to send another grant and maybe a clone my way, I'd appreciate it," Laine said. She frowned. "And Dick, take care of yourself." She sounded like she meant it. "Come by any time and for God's sake, get some people in your life. Don't isolate yourself, okay?"

"That's… not going to be a problem. But thanks."

She gave him a mocking little salute and he slipped out of the shop, feeling marginally better. He'd clearly been okay in Laine's hands. But when the bell jangled as the door closed he froze on the spot. There had been… someone else. Someone had come running to the back of the store, had practically tripped over him. It had seemed important. He frowned and poked his head back in.

"Thought you said you weren't coming back," Laine said without looking up.

"Uh, no, just— when I was working here, was there a guy who came running through one day? Made an impression?"

"You mean perfect-thighs-printout-man? Don't tell me you forgot _him_."

Dick shrugged helplessly.

"This is bizarre," Laine muttered. "You have, like, a fancy doctor looking at you, right?"

"Pretty much the fanciest," Dick said, thinking how Leslie would scowl to be described that way.

"Well, okay. You made me make a print-out of the security feed after he ran in here. Apparently he saved your life with soup or something when you were sick."

"Do you still have that feed?" Dick asked, with a sinking feeling. Had that other him left behind a boyfriend? That was going to be _exceedingly_ awkward.

"No," Laine said. "Sorry. I don't keep the archive that long. But you kept it with you. It's probably around your apartment somewhere, unless you guys had a fight or something."

"Right. Thanks, Laine."

Dick knew his next stop, then.

Except he didn't know it at all. He retrieved his bike and made a call.

"Hey Babs," he said. "Where do I live?"

"What?" Babs asked, her voice carefully neutral. "Dick, are you all right?"

"What? Yes – oh, yes, sorry, I know where I live, I'm not having a memory lapse. Or at least, not more than usual. I want to go to the apartment you guys put me in, but I don't know where it is."

"Oh! Geez, you scared me. Yeah, I can get you the address, but maybe you should get someone to take you?"

"Uh—"

"You're already in the city aren't you."

"Kind of."

"You took your bike, didn't you."

"Yeah."

"Did you at least wear a helmet?"

"Of course I did!" Dick said, scandalized. "How else could I be calling you while recklessly careening around corners at mach five while I chase down Two Face?"

"What? Dick! You— you're kidding."

"I am."

"You're not even out as Nightwing right now."

"I'm not."

"Your building is at 485 West 85th, asshole. 2C."

"Thaaaank you, Babs."

"Thank me by getting home in one piece, birdbrain. I love you."

"Love you too, Babs. Bye."

The apartment was quite close to the bookstore, something Dick was certain the family had planned for him. He noted several traffic cameras along the way that he had no doubt had watched him every day on his way to and from work.

When he got to his building, he realized he didn't have a key. He had to go around and find the back of the building where a window for apartment 2C overlooked an alley. Getting to it was simple enough, and opening it was only difficult because Dick was looking for security that wasn't there. The window was just a standard one, with a standard lock and one alarm that would alert Babs (he assumed) if the window was opened.

It had already been disarmed.

Dick frowned and slid in cautiously, immediately sinking to the floor in the dark apartment and straining his ears for any hint of an intruder. He'd entered in the bedroom and slipped silently to the door, wishing he'd brought a spare mask to help him see.

Someone was standing on the kitchen table, tampering with the smoke detector. Dick recognized the silhouette. He sighed and flipped the light on, not even flinching when Red Hood responded instantly with a gun pointed in his direction.

"Hood," Dick said with a nod of greeting. "Mind getting your boots off my table?"

The gun vanished. Jason finished removing his camera from the smoke detector and jumped off the table, landing heavily in front of Dick, though Dick noted he was keeping the weight ever so slightly off his right leg. "You're back." The modulated voice was flat as ever.

"Yeah, I needed to pick up some stuff—"

"No, I mean you're you again. I can tell."

"Why, how would I have reacted if I wasn't?" Dick asked. He brushed past Jason, turning on more lights, glancing around curiously.

"A weird blend of cocky and afraid," Jason said. He tugged off his helmet. "Very unbecoming."

"Hm," Dick said. He turned back from where he'd been examining the contents of his fridge. "I'm still trying to— oh."

"What?" Jason asked. "You're staring. Do I have something on my face?"

Dick's mouth formed around a syllable that might have been _Todd_.

Jason shifted the helmet to his other hand, uncomfortable. "Look, Dick—"

"You look familiar."

"Well, yeah? I'd hope so?"

"No, not like that. Like… you look like someone else."

"Personally I've always thought I resembled James Dean," Jason said with a deliberately roguish smile.

"No, I mean— wait, really? James Dean? You think so?"

"You wound me, dickface."

"Aw, don't worry little wing, you're perfectly handsome," Dick said with a laugh. Jason didn't laugh though. In fact, he seemed to tense.

"I gotta go. I was just here to pick up my tech. Uh, glad you're better now or whatever," he said, edging toward the window.

"Wait, hang on a second. Damian said you helped. I'm trying to build a picture of what happened these past three months. Damian's being cagey and Babs seemed to think I should talk with you."

"Of course she did," Jason said. His eyes darted to the window one more time. "Okay, lemme give you the condensed version: amnesiac-you ran into the Red Hood one night while stumbling home from the clubs. It triggered a small mental break that looked basically like you were dying, which of course I felt responsible for since I am a kind and generous soul."

Dick rolled his eyes and Jason grinned.

"So I checked in on you and made sure you were going to be okay. After that you seemed to get better so I thought maybe more small breaks might lead to, you know, greater healing or whatever. Damian agreed with me so we started poking at you, but Bruce found out so we kind of… accelerated the program a bit, ending with Damian trying to whisk you away to heal before J'onn could reprogram you again and now here we are."

"Go back to the part about more small breaks," Dick said, parsing the information as quickly as Jason delivered it. He could practically feel the holes in the story. "How did you go about that?"

"Uh, well. I tried to make friends with you."

Dick's smile was equal parts malicious glee and pure delight. "That's adorable."

"Right. Just hang on to that feeling," Jason muttered.

"That's why you look familiar even though I _know_ you. I'm remembering the other me's you. Wait. Todd. That was it. That's… that's a pretty stupid alias, Jason."

"I wanted something that might sound at least a little familiar to you without clobbering you over the head with memories. It worked, didn't it?" Jason said.

"Looks like it. Now tell me the part of it that was making Babs nervous."

"Other than the 'poking your brain' part you mean?"

"I mean the part where she said 'Talk with Jason first and remember he was just trying to help.'" Dick crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at Jason. "What'd you do, Jay?"

"It's not what _I_ did, Dick, it's what you did," Jason said. Dick wondered if he was aware he was holding the helmet in front of himself now, defensive. "You like… imprinted on me or something, okay? It's not what I wanted, I promise. I didn't _mean_ to."

"Didn't mean to what?" Dick asked, completely adrift.

"I…" How exactly could he say 'You fell for me romantically' without sounding like a total ass? "Maybe this will help jog your memory," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a much-folded, slightly crumpled piece of paper he'd been planning on 'tidying up' along with his surveillance tech and held it out to Dick. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Dick took the paper and unfolded it. It was a print-out from the security cameras at Read the Rainbow. It was _the_ print-out. "Oh," Dick said faintly, scalp tingling as a scrap of memory drifted back. " _You're_ perfect-thighs-printout-man?"

"I'm _what_?"

Dick could feel his face reddening and he covered it with one hand. "What the fuck, Jay."

"I said I'm sorry!"

"Did— did I— Did _we_ —"

"God, no, do you honestly think I would— just, _no_ , Dick, we didn't anything. In fact as soon as I realized what you thought I fucking ghosted you, so there." Jason turned on his heel and threw open the window.

"Wait, hang on," Dick said, reaching out for him. "I just want to know—" His hand closed on Jason's shoulder and suddenly he was remembering his arms around Jason's waist, his thighs pressed to Jason's with a motorcycle roaring beneath them. He blinked and his hand was hovering in the air and Jason was gone.

Dick pulled his hand back, pressing it to his chest. Then he shook himself, closed the window, and went back to casing his apartment.

 

Dick brought his other self's laptop and cell phone back to the manor with him. He also brought the printout, but he wasn't thinking about that. He set up in his room. The hospital bed had been cleared out, but even if it had still been there Dick would have regrouped here. The Cave had more resources, more workspace, better tech, but it also had more Bats and this was personal, private (never mind that they'd all been spying on him for three months anyway). He felt more like himself in his room, and he didn't need any more identities cluttering up his brain at the moment.

Both the laptop and the phone needed a charge. While he waited for them to come back to life, he clicked through a few more of the files Babs had sent. A video of him dealing with some entitled asshole who wouldn’t stop flirting with him at the bookstore… one of him working on the display in the front window… one of him sleeping restlessly, turning his blankets into a cat's cradle around his legs. He seemed to be talking in his sleep, but the video wasn't good enough to make out what he'd said.

Well if he couldn't make it out, they wouldn't have been able to either and he was willing to bet they'd tried. So far he'd ignored the sound files Babs had sent because they came with no context and he didn't have the energy to attempt them yet. But now he glanced through them and found one that was named similarly to that video of him sleeping. He played it.

"Oh my _God_." Dick buried his face in his hands as the computer speakers presented him with a clip of his own voice… saying… Jason's name. Definitely _saying_ it. Or maybe mumbling it. Certainly not _moaning_ it. "Mrgh!" Dick said as the clip went to loop. He closed the file as quickly as he could. "What the actual hell."

He had no idea what he'd been dreaming. The audio file was date stamped. It had been, as near as he could tell, after he'd met "Todd." Something in his brain must have made the connection on some level.

He shoved that computer aside and grabbed the phone the other him had been using, which had finally woken up. The contacts were distressingly bare, consisting of Bruce (the public-personal number that he gave civilian contacts), Laine, and Todd. That was it. He had several messages from Laine, first when he'd apparently missed work – the date showed that it had been the evening Robin had abducted him, so that explained that – and then presumably after she'd received the email informing her he'd quit. Those were… alarming. He was glad he hadn't seen them before going to see the bookstore for himself. He wasn't sure he'd have had the courage.

The only other text conversation he had was between him and Todd. He scrolled through it, fascinated. A few messages confirming a meet up. He added the timestamps to his timeline. Some talk about books, another meet up. Or date.

 _As soon as I realized what you thought_ , Jason had said. Dick's texts hadn't exactly been flirty, but not exactly just friendly either. But then he got to the end of them, the point where Jason had stopped responding.

_About last night. it's ok, I understand  
_

What was that about. He checked the date and then searched the video files. There was one from a street camera. Babs' metadata told him she'd had to re-assemble this footage from Damian's tampering. Dick opened it.

He and Jason were standing in front of Dick's building. Dick grabbed Jason's hand, said something, and then Jason pulled away. Then he _ran_ away.

"Oops," Dick said. "Guess he realized I was flirting with him." He wondered where they'd been coming from, what he'd said. Ignoring the sudden sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, he checked the rest of the texts, what few there were.

_If it was about your night job, it doesn't bother me_

Interesting. Had he figured out that Jason was Red Hood? And it didn't bother him? Oh, wait, no:

_I think Red Hood just threatened me_

Well what the hell, Jason.

_I don't think I'm handling it well_

That was it. Of course, shortly after that everything had come to a head, but Dick couldn't help feeling sorry for his poor, hopeless, amnesiac self, reaching out to the only person he knew, who he'd somehow connected with his old life, and getting nothing in response.

He also sort of felt like he should apologize to Jason for misreading him so entirely and coming on to him like that, because _that_ had to have been awkward. Even if Dick couldn't have known the full implications of what he was doing, he still felt wrong for putting Jason in that position.

"Of course, now he's never going to speak to me again, so I guess that's that," Dick muttered.

He grabbed the laptop next. It was remarkably uncluttered. His browser history had a few basic searches, some Netflix, a few food orders. The only thing that caught his eye was an image search for Nightwing. The date on that was the night before he'd sent the texts about Jason's supposed night job. Dick checked the video files for a corresponding one and, sure enough, there was a video of him sitting on his couch (after rather a lot of footage of him getting undressed for a shower, _thanks guys,_ not intrusive at all), looking at Nightwing pictures until he got an awful nosebleed so bad he had to stand over the sink.

He touched the bridge of his nose delicately. Is that what Jason had meant by small breaks? Little things like that, pushing Dick along gently? Well it wasn't Jason's fault Dick had suddenly decided Todd had rejected him because he was _Nightwing_ , or at least, it probably wasn't. Regardless, he had no evidence that Jason had acted…inappropriately. And now he felt like an ass.

An ass with a headache. He shut the laptop and leaned back on his pillows, massaging his temples. The sun was coming up and he'd asked his brain for rather a lot today. It was no surprise when he fell asleep mid-thought.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

"Are you going out?"

Dick looked over his shoulder. Batman stood behind him, watching him unfold his suit from where it had been carefully stored in the Cave for the entire time he'd been gone.

"That's the plan," he said. He was looking for his boots; they didn't seem to have been kept with the rest of the suit. He'd already found the escrima sticks in the armory. "Please don't tell me you're here to argue about it."

"Hm," said Batman. "Gotham is calming down. The GCPD is getting back to normal. Gordon is recovering."

"This sounds suspiciously like you agreeing with me."

"I realize that my actions this summer may have been influenced by the effect of Scarecrow's experiment just as much as any other civilian's," Batman said. "Or… perhaps the cowl, the Cave, and the manor's remote location shielded me and the others from most of the effects, and the feeling of relief I'm experiencing now is just due to you being back. Recovered."

"Why Bruce, that's downright sentimental," Dick said with a grin. It was an interesting point, though. Batgirl, Black Bat, Signal, and Red Hood all had headgear that would have shielded them while they wore it. Oracle's apartment was protected against any unauthorized incoming signals; she had crafted her own network to make sure phones still worked inside. That left Robin and Red Robin still exposed, and Robin spent most of his time here.

Still, all of them spent time out of costume in the city. Dick wondered if low-level fear and anxiety had played into Damian's decision to interfere with Bruce's plan, or into Tim's decision not to. And he himself would have been exposed to everything constantly once he'd been relocated to Gotham. Had it helped, like the fear gas eventually had ended up doing? Or hindered?

Batman, of course, ignored his comment. "Have you decided?"

"Decided what?" He'd found his boots. They were with Tim's spare equipment.

"Whether you agree with my decision."

"Oh," Dick said, heading for the changing area. "You're asking if I'm mad at you." The suit, then the gloves, then the boots, then the mask. Dick felt his posture change, felt his spine straighten and his shoulders pull back. It was like he'd finally found a good grip on an awkward weight he'd been carrying. He stepped out, checking all the little hidden compartments in the suit to see what needed to be replaced. "Nope," he said. "And not Damian or Jason, either, by the way, so if you've been glowering at them – literally or metaphorically – quit it."

"You've talked to Jason?"

"A few days ago. Haven't seen him since. You haven't chased him out of the city or anything, have you?"

"I benched him. Shortly before your recovery." Batman crossed his arms. "I… didn't expect him to listen."

Dick snorted. "I don't think he's doing it out of respect for your wishes, B. I think he's avoiding me."

"And why would that be?"

"Mm, none of your business," Dick said lightly. He snapped his escrima sticks to his back. "All right. Ready."

"You shouldn't go out alone."

Nightwing sighed with his entire body. "Really, B? I don't need the bat-training wheels. I'll be fine without a giant Kevlar shadow."

"I wasn't talking about me," Batman said. He tipped his head toward the stairs.

Damian stood at the base of them, dressed in casual clothes but with a green domino in hand. "I heard you were going out."

"Ah," Nightwing said. Then he grinned. "Well if you're coming, you'd better get dressed."

 

Jason looked around at his apartment safehouse one last time. It was secure, sterile, ready for him to be gone for months if that was how things played out. He was dithering, had been for days, and he knew it. His trip to Dick's old apartment to pick up his equipment should have been the last thing he needed to do before getting out of town to go find some non-Gotham variety of trouble to lose himself in.

And then, of course, Dick fucking Grayson had turned up, unlooked for and unwanted. Jason had definitely entertained the thought that Dick might actually have a superpower, and it was appearing specifically at the times that would be most inconvenient for Jason. And of course, he was, apparently, completely healed, had come out of the whole ordeal perfectly fine but for a little gap in memory, one that Jason had stupidly filled in and _of course_ Dick had immediately assumed—

Ugh.

Jason very much wanted to slam the window (complete with newly repaired pane), but he shut it with a restrained firmness, well aware that he was being unfair. Dick hadn't really assumed anything, but he _had_ asked and he shouldn't have had to ask.

Then again, Jason knew well enough what it was like to not remember exactly what had happened during a stretch of time, and the anxiety that came with it. He was also aware of the fact that, to Dick, they were still just two vigilantes who sometimes nodded at each other as they swung past. Dick didn't remember that they had gotten to know each other a little better, had become closer over the past few weeks. That Jason had developed a genuine affection for someone who was only half (if that) of Dick, and that that part of Dick had developed even more for him…

Well, the Dick who had experienced those things was dead and that was exactly what Jason had wanted so then there had been no reason to leave town. He had put his departure on hold and figured he'd just continue as he had been.

Two days of attempting that had made it clear it wasn't going to work out. Jason was constantly looking over his shoulder for Nightwing, even though he hadn't been spotted out and about at all yet. Jason wasn't sure whether he was hoping to see him or not. Worse, he wasn't sure what he would do if he did. Something in him wondered if it would be so bad to strike up a conversation, to _try…_

So when Roy had called requesting a little help with an operation in Ukraine, Jason had agreed rather more swiftly than usual. Handling arms dealers in Europe seemed like exactly the vacation he needed.

He clambered down from his window, walked a few blocks away through narrow streets and alleys with his jacket zipped and helmet turned and tucked under his arm like a motorcycle helmet until he was well away from any of his boltholes. When he retrieved his bike from its secure location it was just a matter of a few adjustments to his outfit, and Red Hood was zipping from a narrow alley into traffic, heading for the city limits.

He didn't get anywhere near them before he got the alert.

Jason had been pointedly _ignoring_ communications from the family; if they couldn't get a hold of him they couldn't yell at him, which meant he wouldn't have to yell at them, which meant no one would get shot or punched or blown up and they would all be much happier. But this was a code grey. Arkham break.

He heard the screams before he even got the details and gave his bike a hard wrench to take the next corner, heading back toward the river instead of out of town. Moments later he was following a trail of destroyed vehicles, injured civilians, and torn up pavement right to the Bowery and the source of the damage: an enormous, tangled skein of vines and thorns twisted into a trunk nearly as wide as the street, tearing through it from the sewers like the root of some enormous tree.

Kneeling on one of the coils that had undulated up and out of the pavement, her hand pressed to the veiny surface, was Poison Ivy, looking like she wanted to stab something. The vine had sprouted several off-shoots and appeared to be accomplishing that goal for her.

Red Hood didn't hesitate. He drove his bike directly up the nearest hump of entwined greenery and sped along it toward Ivy, whose back was to him. He'd just pulled a gun when a solid mass of plant matter rammed into him from the side, tearing him off his bike and sending him flying through the air until he smashed into the wall of a building. A tendril of plant snatched him by the ankle and yanked him high into the air before he could hit the pavement. Below, the bike had careened off course and crashed into the ruined street.

Jason gritted his teeth – of _course_ the plant had grabbed him by the injured leg – and shot the mass of greenery twice. It took the impact and reformed around it, then gave Jason an angry shake, like a dog with a chew toy.

Another vine reared up and coiled around Jason's chest, tightening and pulling Jason away from the one that had a grip on his ankle. The first one didn't let go.

"Dismemberment," Jason said under his breath. "Fun." He activated the tazer in his chest plate and the second vine recoiled, sizzling.

"No!" Ivy screamed. "You idiot!" She was halfway up the vine that was still dangling Jason two storeys above the ground, her arms elbow deep in the tangle of smaller plants that made it up, clinging to it with her legs. Jason pulled a batarang and sent it flying to the point where she connected with the plant.

To his very great surprise, it struck. He'd meant it as a distraction so that he could see about getting the plant to let his ankle go, so he hadn't tried to hide his actions, but Ivy just flinched away as it sliced across the tops of her arms. Her hands came free of the plant and she fell, ropes of Virginia creeper hurriedly scrambling out from the still-steaming mess of the vine Jason had electrocuted to create a net to cushion her fall.

She bounced lightly and got to her feet with no harm done other than the shallow batarang cuts, then gestured at the vine that was hauling Jason higher. The creeper began to flow up the sides of it. If Jason didn't know better he'd think it was trying to choke the vine holding him, but he didn't have much time to think about it. The vine shook him again, and this time let go, flinging him across the street.

Jason brought his arms up and braced himself for impact either with the buildings on the other side of the road or with the ground. He wasn't sure which would be worse, but he wasn't expecting a collision with something with a little give to it. Something that grunted as it intersected the arc of his fall and took his weight.

"Hey little wing," Nightwing said. He'd swung out over the street, scooping Red Hood out of the air with one arm, essentially clotheslining him across the chest and pulling him to his side. They landed heavily, both of them needing to roll off the momentum. Nightwing did so more gracefully than Red Hood, of course, and had rolled back to his feet while Jason was still pushing himself to one knee.

Ivy was running toward them. Nightwing stepped in front of Red Hood, escrima sparking, stance cautious. Jason couldn't blame him; running toward vigilantes was not Ivy's usual combat style.

Another huge trunk of plants erupted from the pavement directly between them, though, cutting off Ivy's path.

"You okay, Hood?" Nightwing asked, and Jason realized he was still down, was staring up at Dick like he was a goddamned angel or something. "Not dosed?"

"The helmet's hermetically sealed, dipshit," Jason said, shoving himself to his feet. His right leg gave a twinge, which he ignored. But he saw Nightwing notice it.

"The helmet also has a habit of cracking," Nightwing said, not commenting on the leg.

"Are you gonna worry about me or worry about the giant plant that's about to impale you?" Red Hood asked. He grabbed Nightwing by the wrist and yanked him aside while firing at the three vines that had honed themselves to points and were driving through the air toward where Nightwing's back had just been.

Nightwing yanked right back, pulling Red Hood to the ground next to him and holding him down with a hand between his shoulder blades as the vines zoomed past above them. "Bullets have not, historically, been much use against things like this," he said mildly.

The wound in Jason's shoulder did _not_ appreciate the helping hand. He shoved Nightwing off. "I switched to a tranquilizer gun," he said. "Look." Rather than aim for the points of attack, he had fired into the thicker parts of the plant behind them. Large portions of it were dropping away sluggishly.

"Cool," Nightwing said. "Okay, keep doing that. I'm going after Ivy."

And he vaulted over the nearest plant trunk, directly into the thick of things.

"Fucking asshole," Red Hood muttered.

"He is not," Robin said from directly behind him.

"Fucking _ninjas_ ," Red Hood said, turning to Robin. "I thought we had a rule about kids going near Ivy."

"That is a rule about _me_ going near Ivy since everyone else is of age and I know for a fact that Father did not have that rule for any of you. And besides, this is Nightwing's first night back. Here." Robin pressed a canister into Red Hood's free hand. "Take the north side. I will apply it to the south side."

"What is it?"

"Fear toxin antidote. The plants are frightened."

"The plants are—" But Robin was already ducking under a wavering vine and vanishing down the street. Red Hood decided this was one of those "explain later" moments and took his canister up the street, searching for the thickest knot of vines.

He had to dodge several weaponized plants along the way, but they seemed to be lashing out randomly, or fighting each other, rather than targeting him. From what Red Hood could see, Nightwing was not having as much luck. Any time he tried to get near Ivy, the plants made a focused effort at repelling him. Ivy seemed as frustrated as Nightwing was, but Jason needed to turn back to his own task.

He pulled the pin and dropped the canister into a writhing swell of plant matter and then backed off. The antidote dispersed in a white cloud. At first, the plants only thrashed more violently, but then about half of them drooped, falling limply to the street. The ones that were unaffected calmed and turned back the way Red Hood had come rather than attacking him, so he'd call that a win.

Red Hood made his way back down the street to where he'd last seen Nightwing, leaping quiescent plants along the way and well aware that the still-animated plants were heading the same direction he was. He sped up, climbed a trunk that had fallen across a box truck – and found Nightwing and Ivy standing in the midst of a clearing in the chaos, circling plants penning them in an empty area several yards in diameter.

Nightwing was _talking_ to Ivy. They were standing close to each other, within arm's reach. Nightwing had put away his escrima sticks.

"…not your fault," Nightwing was saying. "Just let us handle it, okay? We can reverse what he did to the plants and no one else needs to get hurt."

"And I end up back in a sunless cell in Arkham?" Ivy asked. "You've always been the most reasonable of your little family," she said, her voice dropping to a purr. "Surely you can see there are other, more… mutually beneficial arrangements we might come to." She took a step toward Nightwing. Nightwing took a step back.

"Come on, Ivy, you think I came alone? Even if you can get your hands on me long enough for something like that to work, Red Hood's got my back tonight."

 _Oh, nice to be relied on,_ Jason thought sarcastically even while the idea of Dick trusting him when he had no idea Jason was literally watching over him at that moment unfurled warm and pleasant in his chest.

"He can come too," Ivy said. Another step forward. Another step back for Nightwing, and that was when Jason finally noticed the tiny loop of moonflower inching its way toward Nightwing's heel. Red Hood beheaded it with a batarang on reflex.

Ivy whirled to glare at him where he still crouched on the box truck. "He warned you he had backup," Red Hood said. Nightwing looked surprised for an instant. Then his smile was like dawn over the ocean. He pulled his escrima sticks back out.

"Last chance, Ivy."

"Give up? Now that you've so kindly calmed most of my poisoned friends? No," Ivy said, backing toward the still-circling wall of vines. "Why don't you give me a sample of your lovely anti-toxin and I'll go on my merry way and get proper revenge on Crane." She raised an arm and the plants surrounding them suddenly froze for an instant. Then they all reared up and began to rush toward Nightwing, sweeping Red Hood right off his perch and carrying him along with them.

The angle was bad, he was decidedly off balance, and he didn't have an endless supply of tranqs. Jason fired anyway.

His dart took Ivy in the neck and she went down. The plants slowed and then halted, dropping to the pavement a few feet away from Nightwing and depositing Red Hood on the broken street in front of him in a tumble.

"Nice shot," Nightwing said.

 _Lucky shot_ , Red Hood thought, but like hell he was going to admit that. "Where's Robin?"

"Robin? Don't tell me he followed me." Nightwing scowled, turning to scan for Robin. "He was supposed to go with B. The plants tore huge holes in Arkham, it's chaos over there. Scarecrow stored a contingency system on the grounds while he was in control. He's apparently been experimenting with the reaction of plant life to Hatter's signals, plus a tainted water supply." He began scaling the mounds of vines, flowers, and shrubbery that now littered the street. "Most likely the next stage of his plans for Gotham, but since that's gone up in smoke he unleashed them in a bid to get free."

Red Hood knelt to secure Ivy, his right leg not quite screaming at him, but definitely grumbling a bit. His shoulder didn't feel too keen, either. "And did he?"

"Probably," Nightwing said. He was standing on the tallest pile of plant matter. "Oh, there he is."

Red Hood stood swiftly, drawing a gun. "Where?"

Nightwing turned at his business-like tone. "Oh, no, I mean Robin," Nightwing said. "He's fine."

Red Hood rolled his eyes – not that anyone could see it – and put the gun away. "You got transport for Ivy?"

"Yeah, Oracle's coordinating. You should really turn on your—"

But Red Hood was gone.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Jason limped right back to the safehouse he'd just left. His bike was totaled, he'd seen that much in the aftermath of the fight with Ivy. It was well and truly crushed under a rope of plants that looked only slightly smaller around than a redwood. And he was fairly certain the wound on either his thigh or his shoulder was now bleeding again, if not both of them. He sent Roy a quick _some trouble getting out of Gotham_  and started peeling off layers to check the damage.

_story of your life_ , Roy sent back. Then, _GA showed up so either we got this or I'm gonna murder him maybe both stand by_

Jason cracked a small smile at that and tossed the phone on the bed. Oliver was never going to be Roy's first choice for backup but they also wouldn't get each other killed, so that was fine. Still, he'd assess his wounds tonight and if they weren't too bad maybe he'd head out anyway. Because now Nightwing was back, the final piece of Dick's recovery, and somehow Jason _still_ couldn't shake that _oh fuck_ feeling he'd first noticed just over a week ago.

He was down to his underwear, craning in front of the mirror trying to see if the shoulder bandage was bloody (and at the same time wondering if his ribs were just bruised from crashing into that wall or if he should be worried about fractures) when he heard a small gasp.

Nightwing had slid through his window, was standing just inside it staring at him. The intruder alert was blinking merrily in Jason's helmet across the room and on his phone, also across the room.

Jason sighed and braced his hands on the sink. "What do you want?"

"You're injured."

"They're old."

"They're bleeding."

"Very astute. Is there a reason you broke in or did you just want to stare?" He hated the words as soon as he said them, but he turned toward Nightwing anyway, arms crossed over his chest, framed by the doorway of the bathroom as though he had nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of.

To his very great surprise, Nightwing's cheeks pinked. It could have just been the exertion of the evening, but Jason didn't think so. Nightwing didn't seem to notice.

"Let me look," Nightwing said. He turned from Jason and closed the window, then closed the blinds and curtains over it and pulled off his mask and gloves. When he turned back and saw that Jason hadn't moved, he rolled his eyes. "Come here."

"I can take care of myself," Jason said even as he took two steps toward Dick. Small as the apartment was, it was enough.

"Turn," Dick said, putting hands on his shoulders and giving him a gentle push to spin him around. Jason allowed it. After all, the wound really was hard to reach. If Dick was offering it'd be stupid not to accept.

Dick's fingers ghosted over the bandage on his shoulder and Jason dropped his head forward and thought of how much it had hurt when the batarang had struck, and how stupid he'd felt getting hit by his own weapon. Thoughts like that made good distractions.

"I'm taking it off," Dick said, peeling the edges of the bandage up. A sigh. "Jason, this isn't even… did you just do this without looking?"

"Not all of us have butlers to patch us up, big bird."

"You could have gone to Leslie. For that matter, you could have gone to Alfred; do you really think he'd turn you away?"

"It's just a cut, it's fine."

"It's a _hole_. It's—" Dick stopped, fingers resting lightly on Jason's skin. "You had… a batarang… sticking out of you. It was actually just _stuck in_ there. And you tried to pick me up?"

"You remember?" Jason asked. He was pleased with how level his voice was.

"Just now," Dick said. "I've been sort of remembering some things, but I can't always tell if they're dreams or memories or something I saw under the fear toxin. But when I touch you—" He stopped abruptly.

Jason turned. "What?"

"Last time I touched you I remembered you taking me to my apartment on the back of a motorcycle. It was really clear. Definitely a memory." Dick shrugged. "I've always been a tactile learner."

"Well. Happy to help," Jason said. Dick's eyebrows went up and Jason was _sure_ he was going to say something suggestive, but then he just shook his head.

"Let me look at that leg. That's why I followed you here; I saw you were limping. Are you sure you should be putting weight on it?"

"I just fought Poison Ivy in the middle of the street and you're worried about me just standing here?"

"Ah, you're right," Dick said. "Fighting a supervillain while injured is definitely a clear indicator that you know how to take care of yourself. What was I thinking. Stand still." He knelt before Jason could protest, deft fingers unwinding the bandage that wrapped around the bulk of his thigh. "At least this one's a little neater."

"You try fixing a wound on your own shoulder," Jason groused.

Dick ignored him and went to get Jason's first aid kit from the bathroom. "It's inflamed, but probably fine. I'm just gonna rewrap it and then we can talk stitches for the shoulder."

"It doesn't need _stitches_."

"You can't even see it!" Dick said, unspooling some gauze and pulling out the scissors. He trimmed a linen rectangle to a decent size, laid it over the cut on Jason's leg, and taped it down. Then he began winding the gauze around for added security since it was in a location that would see a lot of movement.

Jason refused to fidget, to look down at the top of Dick's head as he knelt before him, fingers brushing lightly against his skin as he worked. It somehow seemed just as awkward to fix his eyes on some middle distance and ignore what Dick was doing. "You're awfully quiet," Jason said at last. "That serious, huh?" Dick sealed off the wrapping, his fingers lingering for just a moment. Then Jason did look down, found Dick looking fixedly at his kneecap, eyes distant in a way Jason recognized. "Did you remember something?"

"I… that other me really liked your thighs," Dick said, barely audible. He didn't look up until Jason burst out laughing, and when he did his face was _definitely_ red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I can't help it!" Dick exclaimed.

"No, it's not that," Jason said. "Just, the thought of you – _you_ – thinking any part of me is—" Jason laughed again. "You were pretty far gone, Dickie." At Dick's upset look, Jason took a step back and offered a hand down to Dick. He took it warily and got to his feet. "Damian and I figured it was just your brain latching on to something familiar and trying to interpret it in a normal way, like attraction," Jason said.

"Oh. And you and Damian are experts, are you?" Dick said.

"Funny, Babs said almost the same thing. I'm not gonna hold it against you, Dick, it's not your fault."

"Then why do I— never mind. The wrap isn't too tight?"

Jason bent his knees and straightened, flexing the muscle experimentally while Dick watched. "It's fine. If you don't mind, I'm going to put on some pants now."

"Hang on, we're not done. Let me get that shoulder closed," Dick said.

"I seriously can't put on pants first?"

"That will involve bending, stretching, pulling. Nope. Sit somewhere so I can get at it."

Jason pulled out one of the cheap chairs he kept at his tiny kitchen table. He sat on it backward, crossing his arms over the back. "You just want to keep looking at my thighs, you lech."

To Jason's dismay, Dick didn't laugh. "I'm sure this is going to be funny someday," he said. "But I'm not quite there yet, Jay. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Jason said. Dick had apologized an awful lot to him in a short amount of time and it was making him uncomfortable. "Just make with the needles."

Dick came up behind him and braced one hand near the gouge in his back, steadying himself. "Ready?"

"Just do it, Dick."

The needle went in and out, a familiar pain, and over very soon. "It only needed a few inside. I'm going to reinforce it with butterflies though, and then we can cover it back up." Dick's hands left his skin and Jason rested his chin on his arms. He wasn't expecting Dick to come back so quickly and jumped when he touched him again.

"Sorry," Dick said, pressing the butterfly bandages in place.

"Your hands are cold, that's all."

"Sorry."

Jason twisted around in his seat and caught Dick's hand by the wrist. "Stop apologizing to me, Dick."

"All right," Dick said, slow and measured, but his eyes were distant. "Let go."

Jason dropped his wrist immediately. "Are you okay?"

"Just remembering. A lot of… more a feeling, that time." He blinked, found himself staring at Jason's chest, his constellation of scars. One of his hands twitched forward, but he remembered himself. "Okay. Well, you're all put together. I'll get going," he said.

"Hang on," Jason said. Dick waited, looking at him curiously, and Jason gathered his courage. "If you want," he said, and put a hand out. Dick tilted his head questioningly, but put his hand in Jason's. Jason pressed it to his chest, over a puckered, round scar close to his right shoulder. An old gunshot wound. "If it helps you remember, you can… I mean, I don't mind. If you need it."

Dick's eyes rested on his hand where it met Jason's skin, where Jason's hand covered his. But he looked like he was seeing something else. "I thought mine were… from accidents." Dick laughed, a little disbelieving. "I just thought I was really clumsy."

"Well that right there should have told you something was up," Jason said. He dropped his hand away, but Dick's stayed on his chest, moving away from the gunshot wound, drifting over to a thin knife slice running down Jason's ribs.

"Knife," Dick said. His fingers glided over. "A burn. Another knife." He looked up at Jason. "Skiing accident, kitchen accident, falling out of a tree. Seemed reasonable."

"I hate that he did that to you," Jason said, suddenly full of anger. "Made you think that that was who you were. Made you _happy_ to be that, or tried to."

Dick's palm spread out over Jason's heart. "But would I be here right now if he hadn't?"

Jason sighed, took Dick's hand and gently removed it. Dick watched him as he found a loose pair of pants, a shirt, a coat. "Come on," Jason said, throwing a red hoodie at Dick while he got dressed himself. "I have something else I think will help."

Dick pulled the hoodie on over his Nightwing suit and Jason led him out the actual front door of his apartment, up the stairs, to the roof of the building. The sky was glowing with light pollution, the clouds standard Gotham purple, the Batsignal absent for the evening as Bruce and his allies cleaned up the remains of the Arkham breakout.

"I sent Damian back to Bruce and the others. I should be back out there helping," Dick said.

"Oh yeah? And what happens when you get hit with a random memory in the middle of things?"

"I can handle—"

"You get this vacant look on your face. You used to do that before, too. But for longer. You'd space out like you were trying to remember something but there was nothing there to get a grip on. It was… scary, actually," Jason said. "And now it could get you killed."

"I can't just quit."

"I know. So you'll have to remember everything instead. In a safe place."

Dick gave him one of his cocky smiles. "And that's here with you."

Jason shrugged. "That's up to you. But I thought the rooftop might help."

Dick looked around curiously. "Why?"

"You had this little rooftop garden at your apartment. Went around and convinced everyone to start one in freaking September. Grew all of, like, two cabbages before it got too cold."

"Radishes," Dick corrected him. "I remember. I… ha, I started that garden because I wanted to meet everyone. Because I thought Todd was one of my neighbors."

"See how helpful I am?" Jason said with his own grin. "What else?"

Dick closed his eyes and paced the perimeter of the roof thoughtfully. Jason consciously refrained from running after him to pull him back from the edge. This was Dick Grayson, properly. He wouldn't fall, not without meaning to.

"I don't know," Dick said. "I almost… hm." He reached out a hand for Jason without opening his eyes and Jason went to him at once. "It was like this," Dick murmured, backing up until he was almost pressed against Jason's chest. He pulled Jason's arm over his shoulder gently, then held it there. "Did I flip you?"

"Yeah, but only because I let you."

"There was also something else. Something like this," Dick said. He brought Jason's arm down to his side, pulled it around himself, put Jason's hand on his hip and pressed his back against Jason's chest. Jason went very, very still behind him.

Dick's eyes flew open. "Oh," he said, stepping away from Jason. "That wasn't you. And not a rooftop."

"Okay," Jason said. He wanted so very badly to ask _who_ and _when_. "But still a memory?"

"Yes," Dick said slowly. "Pretty sure."

They went on like that, eventually settling on the ledge of the roof, feet dangling, slowly teasing out memories, Dick talking his way through them.

_Did we go to that café I like? The one on Washington? I mentioned that to you_ once _!_

_You asked me about Bludhaven._

_I gave you a really awful book. No, it_ was _awful, you tried to pretend it was okay, but you hated it._

_I thought you were Nightwing._

Eventually, Dick told him about what he'd experienced under the fear toxin. "Nightwing guided me through the case, but… it was you," Dick said. "I think it helped me experience it from a distance. Helped me process it. Because it was you going through it. But at the end, seeing you fight against Hatter's control…" Dick shivered a little and Jason wondered if they should go back in. The sun would be rising soon and their voices were puffing into little white clouds in front of them. "I couldn't stand it. So I put myself in your place."

Jason snorted. "Typical."

"Hey," Dick said. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Just don't make a habit of it, Goldie."

"Probably too late for that," Dick said. He turned his face to the east, where the sky was lightening ever so slightly beyond the wall of buildings that blocked the horizon. "Thanks for this, Jay."

"Part of the job."

"It really isn't," Dick said. "When they told me you helped, even though B specifically told you not to, I didn't know why you'd do that. Why you'd risk this truce you've had for over a year now. Actually, I still don't get it."

"It's simple," Jason said. "You were so pathetic I couldn't stand it."

"Oh, come on."

"Like a duckling that has no idea how to swim."

"Jason."

"Like a kitten that climbed a tree but then couldn't get down."

"I will push you off this roof, Jason Todd."

"Yeah, and then you'd swoop down to catch me. I'm not worried, Dickie," Jason said.

"Seriously, though," Dick pressed.

Jason looked up at the sky. "All right, seriously, then. Couple reasons. I looked in on you at first because I was curious. Honestly, I thought it might be satisfying to see you… normal." Jason snuck a look at Dick's face, but it was carefully neutral. "But then I really did get worried about you. And there was a little bit of wanting to show Bruce up. Plus—" Jason stopped out of habit. But it had been a night for sharing, and it seemed silly to hide things like that now. "I knew you'd do the same for me."

"I would," Dick said.

They sat in silence for a short time longer, watching the sky get brighter, listening to the city wake up.

"We should go in," Jason said. "It's cold and a tiny ninja is probably going to come looking for blood if you don't put in an appearance soon."

"Yeah," Dick said, but instead of getting up, he turned to Jason. "Actually, I just… I'm wondering one more thing."

"Yeah? Another memory?"

"I'm not sure. Can I—?" He raised a hand toward the side of Jason's face, hovering there, waiting for Jason to pull away or tell him it was fine.

"Go ahead," Jason said.

Dick brushed his fingers back through Jason's hair, then traced the curve of his ear and along his jaw line. He leaned in, slow, slow. Jason didn't pull away, just went still like he had when Dick had pressed back against him earlier.

When their mouths were inches apart, breath mingling visibly in the air between them, Dick closed his eyes and closed the distance.

Jason's lips were dry, his mouth soft and warm, and Dick thought he felt him sigh into the kiss. He parted from him slowly and found that Jason had closed his eyes, too. Dick pulled his hand back.

Jason's eyes fluttered open, like he was waking up. "We never—"

"I know," Dick said. "I wanted to check."

"I could have told you that wasn't a memory."

"Well," Dick said with a small smile. "It is now."

Jason flushed. "Dick, if you're just—"

"I'm not _just_ anything," Dick said. "Unless I'm completely misreading you, you want this. And you run away from things you want."

"Okay, fine, you caught me. I'm lusting after the perfect Dick Grayson," Jason snapped. "But I'm not running away. Excuse me for not wanting to take advantage of you." He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, stalking to the middle of the roof. But he didn't go inside. Dick followed him.

"You're not taking advantage of me. I'm me, all here, more here than I've been in a long time."

"You're recovering from severe mental trauma. And I'm tangled up in that."

"That's not it, Jay," Dick said. "Those things I felt for you—"

"Those things you barely remember?"

"Shut up and listen to me," Dick ordered and damn if Jason didn't just about snap to. It only made him scowl harder. "What I felt for you didn't magically appear as a result of some sci-fi imprinting. And it didn't magically disappear when I came back."

Jason looked at Dick suspiciously. "What are you saying."

"I'm saying I have _always_ liked your thighs, Jason Peter Todd. And I like the rest of you pretty well, too."

"Well, fuck," said Jason.

"Not exactly the response I was hoping for."

"Always?"

"Well, since you stopped actually trying to hurt us," Dick said. Then he thought for a moment. "Okay, maybe slightly before that."

"Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"I didn't want to chase you away! Things were delicate for so long, the last thing you needed was me dumping my… _interest_ all over you."

Jason laughed, but it wasn't quite as happy a laugh as Dick would have liked. "That's the last thing you need right now, too. There was a Martian in your brain three months ago. Right before that, a mad scientist pelted your brain with some bizarre mind control wave. Then, a few days ago, a _different_ mad scientist drugged you with a toxin specifically designed to fuck with, and I can't stress this enough, _your brain_."

"And before any of that, I wanted you. The only difference is that now I know you want me, too." Dick hesitated. "Although, you are arguing kind of a lot for someone who wants this. Tell me I'm wrong and I'll never mention it again."

"No," Jason said, so quickly it made Dick smile. He grabbed Dick's hand like he thought he might vanish. "I want you. I want— I want to go to cafes and dinner and whatever and tell you about the books I've been reading, and hear you talk about growing up around the world, but have it actually be you. But I just can't believe _you_ want that."

"Why not?" Dick asked.

"Wanting things usually means I don't get them, Dick," Jason said, his voice a little strangled. "Not without a lot of violence and bloodshed."

"Well," said Dick, inching a little closer. Jason hadn't lightened his grip on Dick's hand. "I usually do get what I want. I'm pretty good at it, actually. And I think I'm more stubborn than you."

"Ah, so you think you get me just because you want me, is that it? I'm another of Dick Grayson's conquests?" Jason asked.

"I think the way you're smiling means I've already got you. Face it, Red Hood. You lose this one." And he leaned in, but stopped just short of kissing Jason.

Jason sighed and Dick would swear he could hear the eye roll before he pulled on Dick's hand, tugging him those last few inches closer. Their lips touched, and then Jason's free hand was at the back of Dick's head, fingers tangling in hair, crushing Dick closer to him.

Dick gave a muffled little moan that made Jason smile against him. He nipped at Dick's lower lip before pulling away just enough to say, "You sure you know what you're getting into, Nightwing?"

Dick practically bit the last word out of his mouth, tongue exploring, one arm curled around Jason's shoulders and the other curved around his waist and one leg making a good start at climbing Jason like a tree, all of which meant that at some point Jason had let go of Dick's hand but damned if he could remember when that had happened. Presumably it had been some time around when the fireworks had started popping behind his eyes.

Dick disengaged with a smug grin that said he'd had not only the cream but also the canary, and had thoroughly enjoyed both. "Are _you_?" he asked.

Jason was not entirely certain, at that.

But he was eager to find out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thank you all for reading, commenting, and kudos-ing; you have made it a pleasure to post :)
> 
> Btw, this fic was inspired by an ask meme I did last year where people sent me fic titles and I summarized the kind of fic I'd write for the title they gave. I liked the idea of [this one](http://solomonara.tumblr.com/post/170966202424/oooooh-are-we-doing-fic-titles-how-about-caged) so much I fleshed it out, so thank you for the ask, anonymous person, and I am terribly sorry I didn't keep your title! The fic just morphed into something else that didn't quite fit the title anymore, but I certainly wouldn't have written it without that prompt!


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